Archive of Our Own

“So what will the Warrior of Light do, once this is all said and done?”

M’ren looked at Y’shtola over the rim of his drink, pausing with it halfway to his mouth. She wondered if he knew that she knew that he was trying to surreptitiously scent it for poison. He hadn’t trusted a single drink since the tail end of the Dragonsong War, but she was curious as to whether he had noticed that a Scion always made sure to order the same drink as him whenever they shared a meal. That was why she was drinking peach juice while Urianger was already three cups of mead in.

“I… hmm.” M’ren swirled his drink and set it back down on the table. “I’m not sure.”

Y’shtola winked at him. “Is it wasting delicious beverages?” She took his glass by the stem and took a nice big sip, making sure he was watching. “I understand Tataru has given us a hefty meal budget, but I do not imagine she was planning for indecisive eaters.”

“Oh, drink your own, you little vulture,” he snorted, snatching his drink back from her. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you ordering the same drinks as me.” He took a sip, clearly satisfied with Y’shtola’s continued breathing. “Your eyes don’t work, your taste buds are just fine.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Thancred. “Y’shtola did spend her formative years with Master Matoya in that cave.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you could be implying.”

“Could it be,” M’ren added, poking at the spread of food on the table before snatching up a slice of fish that Thancred had already sampled, “that, among the many things of which Matoya has chosen to divest herself—gentility, patience, chairs—gastronomy might be one?”

Y’shtola smiled at him, shaking her head fondly. “There are chairs in her cave.”

“If you told me she slept standing up in that exact spot by her crystal, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.”

Y’shtola danced her fork over an as-yet-untouched egg trifle. “To be entirely honest, neither would I.” She dug a little bit of the trifle out and dolloped it into her mouth. “Oh, I must extend my continued thanks to whoever funds The Last Stand. I couldn’t handle weeks of Archon loaf.”

M’ren snorted, snagging up his own forkful of the dessert. “It is baffling to me that any of you made it to adulthood, eating like that.”

“I wouldst enjoy returning to Sharlayan,” mumbled Urianger, still a topic behind. “Now that I have found reconciliation with Moenbryda’s family, the prospect of returning no longer haunts mine soul.”

“That sounds nice,” said Thancred.

Y’shtola nodded. “I am sure they would love to have you.” 

“Wouldst thou, perchance, accompany me?” Urianger blinked at M’ren, slow and doleful. “Wilfsunn and Bloewyda have expressed… they wouldst enjoy knowing more of the man that Moenbryda described so earnestly.”

Y’shtola and Thancred looked over at M’ren, who was swirling his drink in a tidy little circle. Though he treated Urianger with respect, Y’shtola was uncertain if M’ren’s opinion of their flowery companion had improved overmuch since his blowup in the Crystarium. Judging by Urianger’s tentative expression, so was he.

M’ren took a little sip. “I suppose I could be persuaded. Even if only to better understand why you talk like an old sylph.”

“Magnificent!” cried Urianger, sitting up straight and clapping his hands together. Y’shtola, to her surprise, let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Thancred, wouldst thou acquire another round of beverages? We needs must celebrate!” 

“You are perfectly capable of ordering drinks yourself.”

Urianger, who Y’shtola planned to ensure felt mortified the next morning, pouted. “Thancred…”

Thancred rolled his eyes. “Incredible. I know you’re going to regret this, but who am I to be the arbiter of good times?”

“A hypocrite,” Y’shtola opined as he flagged down their waitress.

“Duly noted, Y’shtola, thank you. Another set of drinks for the table, please.”

“Willfully ignorant, at the very least,” added M’ren, taking another sip from his drink.

“Oh, aren’t we both so funny.”

“Wouldst thou be able to enumerate the amount of women thou hadst kissed?” asked Urianger, whose eyes were starting to unfocus.

Thancred groaned, putting a hand over his eyes. “If I were to get into this, which I don’t plan on doing, I would need to be a lot drunker than I am now.”

“I can call back the waitress.”

“No, Y’shtola, I think I’ll manage. Not to blatantly change the topic—”

“One of your many skills,” Y’shtola mused.

“Enough out of you. M’ren, you never actually told us: what will you do, once we get back from the far edge of the universe?”

M’ren didn’t answer right away, swirling the last dregs of his drink and considering the food in front of him. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He held up a piece of cheese and turned it back and forth between his fingers. “Hard to imagine there won’t be some crisis immediately demanding attention.”

“Feel free to labour under the impression that Merlwyb and Nanamo won’t immediately find some suite of busywork to ladle onto you.”

“Y’shtola, you haven’t had a single sip of liquor, you don’t have an excuse for your terrible personality.” He popped the cheese square into his mouth and grinned at her.

Thancred snorted. “I think the terrible personality is her excuse.”

“Oh, the poor boy finds his tongue! If we recall our previous forays into conversation, I was raised in a cave by a misanthrope. You were raised by Louisoix, and yet your thorns are as thick as mine.”

“Yes, eventually,” Thancred retorted. “And my personality is just fine, thank you.”

“I think I’d like to spend time with my mother,” whispered M’ren.

Do not look at Thancred, Y’shtola told herself. Do not look at Thancred.

She looked at Thancred.

It was fine, though; he was looking at her, and she imagined her own eyebrows were as far up her face as Thancred’s were his. It was fine; M’ren was staring into his drink, he couldn’t see their expressions. All they had to do was react normally to his statement, and not point out that—

“Is this not the first time thou hast mentioned thine mother?” asked dear, sweet, stupid Urianger, who might end up in the bay later if he continued ruining Y’shtola’s plans.

M’ren blinked. He set his drink down and looked up at them (Y’shtola prayed her face had been schooled back to neutrality), and something odd flashed across his face. “Yes,” he said, picking his drink back up. “How about that?”

Do not say Alphinaud is obsessed with finding her. Do not say Alphinaud is obsessed with finding her.

“Has Alphinaud not expressed interest in her whereabouts?” asked Urianger, nearly face-down in a bowl of pudding. Y’shtola restrained the urge to reach across the table and help him the rest of the way. She had not felt it necessary to inform Urianger “oh, since M’ren has never mentioned his family in the years we’ve known him, it would behoove you never to bring it up, you absolute pillock”. 

Clearly that had been a mistake. Clearly, the second Alphinaud came to her, she should have sat all of the Scions down and said “as far as we are concerned, M’ren walked off that boat in Limsa Lominsa fully formed and did not exist beforehand.” But she’d been a little busy with her gaping chest wound.

“Oh,” said M’ren, swirling his drink once more. “Hm.” The timbre of said drink-swirling had suddenly become sharper and jerkier.

Once again, it fell to Y’shtola to save everyone and everything. “Thancred, help me understand something. I was in the Agora earlier and ran into a woman named Deltrece, and she had said—”

Thancred flushed. “No, no, you’re on your own.” He took a large gulp of his beer. “I won’t be discussing anything about anyone that may lay claim to having once interacted with someone I resemble. For legal purposes, I have always lived in Ul’dah.”

“My, but the lad doth protest,” Y’shtola hummed. “Perchance were we to return to the Agora and find her—”

“You are sent from hell, Y’shtola Rhul. Just because you were walking around and encountered some woman named Deltrece does not imply the slightest thing about—”

“Oh hell,” M’ren said, suddenly getting to his feet, “I promised Alphinaud I’d at least come to part of his dinner with his mom.”

“Do you mean to tell me you chose this over watching Estinien attempt to fit into high society?”

M’ren flashed Y’shtola a grin. “I much prefer this over having to pretend to be classy.” Urianger hiccuped. “Well, almost. Don’t get up on my behalf, I’m leaving you with the bill.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Obviously, Y’shtola, I didn’t mean you. I meant Thancred, who, despite his best efforts, is actually a gentleman.” Thancred went a little red. “Or Urianger, who would probably end up wearing the table.”

“Were thou aware there are two of thee?” Urianger whispered.

“I might help him put it on,” Y’shtola muttered into her cup.

“You have fun with that,” M’ren said, placing a little kiss on the top of Y’shtola’s head. She swatted him away. “I need to go save Estinien from having to think about which fork to use.”

“Do you know which fork to use?”

“No, but I’m charming.”

Y’shtola rolled her eyes. “Off you go, then. We’ll keep Urianger company until he finds his legs again.” M’ren waved jauntily and jogged off.

“Mine legs are exactly where they have always been,” protested Urianger. “Nowhere but beneath m—”

Then he hit his head on the table.

***

Estinien figured if he leapt out the window, he’d probably survive the glass and the fall and the ensuing chase by Sharlayan authorities. What he would not survive, however, was Tataru and Krile. It was the spectre of their tutting faces that kept him locked in his chair as Alphinaud and his mother brought out a sixth course of their meal.

“Oh, Mother, sweetmeats! You really are spoiling us.”

“Alphinaud, darling, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t bring out all the stops for our esteemed guest?”

Estinien, who had managed to get through the first six courses by hiding the size of the utensil he’d picked in his palm, stared down at the array of glistening sweets and couldn’t help but notice that he was running short on forks. He still had two spoons and three knives, but he was pretty sure spearing a bonbon was a no-go.

“Now, Ser Estinien,” said Lady Leveilleur, who had picked up a little sweetie with the tiniest fork he’d ever seen, “while I feel I know all about you from Alphinaud’s letters, he told me very little about your history. You simply must tell me about the woman who raised the mighty Azure Dragoon!”

Probably inappropriate to say “dragon food”, bonbons notwithstanding. He could tell her about Alberic, but he didn’t want to get into that debacle in polite company.

“She was tall,” is what he decided on.

Lady Leveilleur laughed, a high, tinkling little laugh that made Estinien wonder once more how a man as dour and full of it as Fourchenault had landed such a star of a woman. But that was a dangerous road to go down; he still hadn’t even figured out which utensil was for which dessert.

“My lady,” said one of the servants, sticking her head and shoulders through the door behind Leveilleur, “I present to you M’ren Aaylis, the Warrior of Light.”

Oh, thank the Fury, Estinien thought as Leveilleur got to her feet. Aaylis was a whole lot of things, but what he was best at being was distracting. Estinien might yet get through this interminable meal.

“M’ren! I was so worried you wouldn’t make it! Alphinaud said you were busy.”

“I am never not awash in activity,” he said, taking her hand in his own, “but I always make time for a beautiful lady.” He held her hand up to his lips and kissed it. Leveilleur tittered delightedly. “Particularly one who has been bankrolling me for years.”

“I believe in the cause, of course,” she said, allowing him to lead her by the hand back to her seat. Once she’d been settled, he took the seat between her and Estinien, looking over the spread of desserts and snatching up with his fingers one of the same desserts that Leveilleur had eaten.

“My word, Ameliance,” he said, popping it insouciantly into his mouth, “I might have to go kiss your chef’s hand. This is delicious.”

Estinien noticed that Aaylis had unbuttoned his shirt all the way down to his sternum before joining them for dinner. Tart.

“Oh, let me call her in. Grimgeim has quite the little crush on you! She just adores hearing Alphinaud’s stories.”

Estinien looked to his left at Alphinaud, who’d gone as red as the candied fruit on his plate. He looked mortified when Estinien caught his eye and leaned in.

“That’s your new dad.”

Alphinaud got even redder, looking quite like a poshy tomato. “Hardly,” he muttered, trying and failing three times in a row to spear his little fruit.

Estinien leaned back, feeling rather self-satisfied, as one of Leveilleur’s many attendants left their position on the wall to go fetch what’s-her-face. The door creaked open and somebody punched him really, really hard in his right thigh.

“Oh, Ser Estinien, are you quite alright?” asked the Lady, in front of whom he was absolutely not going to swear. He bit his lip and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“He’s fine,” said Aaylis. “He’s not used to eating so well. Or so richly.” 

“Well, please do come visit whenever you’re in the area. I often find myself eating alone these days, and it would be quite the pleasure to hear more of your stories. I often wonder how much Alphinaud and Alisaie have edited them for what they believe to be my benefit.”

“We just don’t want you to worry, Mother,” said Alphinaud, having apparently managed to successfully fork himself a sweet. “There are some things one doesn’t want shared with one’s parents.”

“Like how you feel about your best mate giving your mum bedroom eyes?” Estinien whispered, making Alphinaud jam the sweet into his cheek rather than his mouth. He stared at Estinien, dismay as visible on his face as the streak of sugar. Maybe he should come around for Leveilleur dinner more: this was fun.

“Oh, there’s Grimgeim,” said Leveilleur, getting back to her feet. As the door squealed open a second time, somebody kicked Estinien’s right ankle with the power to shatter stars.

“By the Fury!” he snarled, doubling over onto the table.

“Estinien!” exclaimed Alphinaud. “Are you alright?!”

“Oh, he just really likes those candied cherries,” said Aaylis, adjusting himself in his chair and beaming up at the blushing Roegadyn woman Leveilleur was showing into the dining room. “They don’t grow up in Ishgard, you know, so he’s never had the chance to learn how delightful they are. Lady Grimgeim, was it?” He popped one of said candied cherries into his mouth and made a show of licking his lips. “I must say, dear lady, these are phenomenal.”

Grimgeim, who was at least two and a half feet taller than Aaylis and almost as much as wide, stammered like a schoolgirl while Estinien tried to massage his poor ankle without making it obvious that was what he was doing. He failed.

“Estinien, are you sure you’re alright?” Alphinaud whispered, leaning in close while Aaylis buttered up his chef.

“I’ve never. Been. Better,” Estinien hissed.

“You’re acting like you’ve been kicked.” Alphinaud blinked, then a cheeky little grin spread across his face. “You have been kicked, haven’t you! I suppose you weren’t aware M’ren has very good hearing, were you?”

Estinien glowered at the young man. “A fact I will not soon forget. Don’t see why he had to kick me, though.”

Alphinaud tittered, much like his mother, which made Estinien think that maybe the Lady Leveilleur was not as ignorant of their antics as she was pretending. Stupid poshy Sharlayans. Stupid Catboy of Light. Stupid ankle, throbbing like a bleeding chest wound. He glared at Alphinaud, who’d gone back to eating his little sweeties with a pleased-as-punch smirk. He glared at Aaylis, who flipped him a rude gesture behind his back while he flirted with the entire Leveilleur staff. He did not glare at Lady Leveilleur, because while he may have functionally been raised on the battlefield, one of the very few lessons he retained from his mother was Don’t Be Rude to Ladies.

And the sweets were tasty.

After he had finally, blissfully been released from the obligations of Polite Society, Estinien walked out the doors of the Leveilleur Estate like a man breathing fresh air for the first time. Alphinaud hung back, called to discuss something fancy and ridiculous with his mother, but Aaylis followed Estinien out, stretching his arms out to the night sky.

Estinien waited six seconds before punching him in the arm.

Or, at least, he tried, since Aaylis slapped his fist back and danced away. Estinien growled. How did he always forget how fast the damn man was? 

Aaylis grinned. “Missed me.”

“Missed nothing. You parried. It’s different.”

“You’re welcome to try again.”

Only a fool would try punching Aaylis again, now that he was ready for it. So Estinien kicked him instead.

“You twiggy bastard!” Aaylis hissed, rubbing his shin. The little revenge felt really good, so Estinien tried for a second one.

That proved to be a mistake, as Aaylis spun to Estinien’s side and kicked his own feet out from under him. On his way down, Estinien grabbed Aaylis by the tail and yanked him down as well.

Aaylis clattered gracelessly to the ground. “Oh, that’s foul! You don’t get to grab my tail, you bastard, you have to buy me dinner first.” He kicked Estinien as he rolled away. Aiming his own kick right back, Estinien made a point to loudly retch.

“Kiss my arse, Wyrmblood, you could only be so lucky.”

“Wouldn’t consider that luck,” Estinien muttered, getting back to his feet. “And I’ve seen how you kiss arse, Aaylis, you shouldn’t talk.”

Standing next to Estinien, Aaylis was a full foot shorter, but he was not in the slightest bit cowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. I’ll let Tataru know to draft wedding invitations for the new Master Leveilleur, shall I?”

“What, that?” Aaylis scoffed. “You know what that’s about. She knows what that’s about, I literally said the words aloud.” He rolled his eyes, though the fact that he instantly knew what Estinien was talking about told him that he wasn’t far off the mark.

“That she bankrolls you, eh?”

“That she bankrolls us, Estinien. You’re part of this little whatever-we-call-it now too.”

“So, what, you flirt with Leveilleur’s mother because you want to keep that river of gold flowing?”

Aaylis shot him a disingenuous smile. “Precisely. Glad we had this talk.”

“That’s a crock of shite.”

Aaylis blinked up at Estinien. “Oh, this should be good.” He turned to face the taller man, arms crossed. “Go on, enlighten me.”

Estinien crossed his own arms. “Correct me if I’m wrong—”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Aaylis interjected, one of his (and Y’shtola’s) most annoying habits.

“—but I was under the impression that Leveilleur has been sending money to the Scions as long as Alphinaud has been with them. And his sign-on predates yours.” Aaylis said nothing, but his big yellow ears flattened across the top of his head. “So it stands to reason that she’s not liable to stop just because you put your tits away.”

“Flattering,” Aaylis muttered, but he did start buttoning up his shirt. “If that’s everything?”

“And I know you’re aware of that, so—”

“Oh, phenomenal, there’s more.”

“So the question is, then: why do it? To embarrass Alphinaud? To get attention? Free food?”

“No such thing as a free lunch,” Aaylis muttered, turning away from Estinien and uncrossing and recrossing his arms.

“For you?” said Estinien. “There is. You’re the bloody Warrior of Light, people throw food and festivities at you wherever you go.”

Aaylis made a noise at the back of his throat. “We snuck here under false pretences and were almost court-martialed for inciting rebellion.”

“Must be a nice change,” Estinien quipped. Aaylis snorted. “I know you’re protective of Alphinaud and his sister; I’ve seen the way you manoeuvre them behind you when someone starts making threats.”

“They are never not putting themselves in danger.”

“That’s certainly true. And I don’t need to have been part of your social club for long to know that you hate attention.”

“Estinien, I waltzed into dinner an hour late with my shirt open and made cow eyes at a woman almost fifteen years my senior and her staff.”

“Just because you’re good in a crowd doesn’t mean you enjoy it. Besides, Tataru mentioned that, after every major victory, you vanish for some three months and come back with a new skill mastered and a new set of fans to run from.”

Aaylis sucked on his teeth. “I am singularly talented,” he murmured, but it was void of passion or pleasure. “Anyway, Estinien, can we be done? I have to go check on G’raha and Alisaie. I want to make sure they haven’t suffocated under a pile of books.”

Estinien considered him for a long moment, confident that, even if he’d exasperated Aaylis to the point of distraction, he wouldn’t just walk off. Besides, Alphinaud hadn’t rejoined them yet, and Aaylis would never skive off Alphinaud; he doted on him.

“What do you gain from this?” Estinien pondered. Aaylis, as expected, didn’t leave (though he did roll his eyes as loudly as possible). “You don’t need to convince the lady to fund us, you have no trouble getting free food, and you don’t need to sweet talk Sharlyan’s poshiest family on-side. The lot of them already adore you.”

Aaylis said nothing.

But then it hit Estinien, clear as a bell. “But they don’t all adore you, do they?”

Aaylis said nothing, but he had gone very still.

“Fourchenault has been your harshest critic since he waltzed into the Seedseer’s glade and disowned his own children. And you were furious about that.”

Aaylis’ ears had begun to twitch.

“This is about Fourchenault, isn’t it? It is, isn’t it.” Estinien looked back at Leveilleur manor. “You’re livid about the way he talked to you, so you, what, seduce his wife? Ruin his marriage as revenge?”

Aaylis spared him a disparaging look. “Cleverly solved, Estinien. You’ll note I am currently in his bed with my ankles around my ears.”

Estinien shook his head, partly to remove from it that image, but also because he knew that wasn’t the full truth. “But I know you know how much Lady Leveilleur loves her husband. And you would never do that to Alphinaud; it’s just not your nature. So what is it, actually?”

“You all have such faith in me,” Aaylis drawled, flexing the fingers on his right hand. “Who’s to say I’m not out to ruin his marriage, eh? I’ve ruined a lot of things; a marriage wouldn’t even be particularly hard.”

“You don’t actually think that.”

“What do you know what I actually think?” Aaylis hissed. “What do any of you know? Maybe I just walked in there with my damn chest oiled to piss everyone off, eh? Maybe I just wanted to dress like a harlot. Maybe I was trying to lure you in.”

“I’ll actually throw up if you say that a third time.”

A quiet growl came from Aaylis’ mouth. “Fine, Estinien, fine. You’d like to know what that was for? Of course I know Ameliance won’t ever leave Fourchenault, I’m not an imbecile. I know that, you know that, she knows that. But you know who doesn’t know that? Him.”

Aaylis turned to face Leveilleur Manor alongside Estinien. “Fourchenault has spent so long in his own head wrapped up in doing the right thing, damn the consequences, that he’s damaged almost every single meaningful relationship in his life. His father died without them reconciling. He disowned his own children. The only one—the only one—he still has is his wife.”

“So you take her from him.”

“No, Estinien, don’t think so small. I make him think I can.” 

Aaylis turned to face Estinien then, and he caught sight of an expression he’d never seen the Warrior of Light bear before: cruelty. “I have no intention of actually breaking their marriage; it wouldn’t work, anyway. But I am flirty and fetching and famous, and Fourchenault Leveilleur is a man plagued by doubt. He will hear what happened tonight, in whatever version of events gets relayed to him, and he will wonder. He will worry.” Aaylis twirled his fingers idly. “He knows his children love me. He knows his wife has gone behind his back to bankroll me. He will hear that I walked in there and charmed every single person in his own gods-damned home and think ‘Is he going to take what’s left?’. And it will eat away at him forever.”

“That’s… impressively thought-out.”

Aaylis gave him an insouciant little bow. “You know he’ll never ask. He’ll never confront me; he’s too busy trying to regain his standing in the face of being wrong over and over again. He will worry and wonder and never do a single thing about it. I literally only have to do it the one time, then the board is laid in perpetuity.”

“And if we all die tomorrow?”

“Then he will understand, for the rest of his sad little life, that he chased away everyone he cared about. He will live—and die—feeling alone and uncertain and unloved.”

“I…” Estinien paused. He looked down at Aaylis, who stared back up with a feral grin and pinprick eyes. “This seems… unlike you.”

“Estinien, you don’t know me!” Aaylis snapped, throwing his hands up in the air and spinning on his heel. “You’ve been with us for less than six months! What in Llymlaen’s name could you possibly know about what I’m capable of?!”

“You’re the man who saved me from the shade of Nidhogg and sat outside my bedroom for three days until I woke up.”

Aaylis stopped, arms still aloft. “I—”

“You’re the man who keeps a Nymeian lily on him at all times to remember a fallen comrade.”

“I don’t—I don’t want to talk about her, not with you.”

“You’re the man who invented an elaborate revenge plot against a man who hurt two people you care very deeply for, built in such a way as to only affect him with no one else the wiser.”

“I… Ugh, fine, Estinien, fine.” Aaylis rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

“Cute.”

Aaylis sighed. “Yes. This is about how he hurt the twins. You should have heard him, Estinien. You should have seen the looks on their faces. They were devastated. For weeks. And now that they’ve done all the work of proving him wrong and convincing him of their righteousness, he apologizes and they’re over the moon to have their father back? But I remember. I remember their faces.”

“And you won’t forgive him? When they already have?”

“Not as long as there is breath in my body. Fathers should be there for their children, no matter what.”

“Is this about your own father?”

Aaylis’ face flattened. “Conversation over. You’ve figured out what I was doing. You can do with that information what you will. I’ll deny it, of course, so good luck with that plan, if you end up choosing it.”

Estinien shrugged. “Don’t much care for Fourchenault either. He could stand to have some more worry, I think.”

Aaylis snorted. “You are refreshingly frank. I think I might actually appreciate not having to pretend with you.”

“But you’ll deny it if ever I brought it up in front of someone else?”

“Ooh,” Aaylis said, patting Estinien’s elbow, “he can be taught. Look, there’s Alphinaud.”

Alphinaud was (finally) exiting his childhood home, more than a little red in the face from what Estinien could see were the many kisses his mother had placed all over him before she let him escape. “My apologies!” he called, firmly closing the manor doors behind him. “Mother just wanted to, um, impart her well-wishes for our success.”

“Lipstick on your nose,” said Estinien.

Alphinaud went fully red at that, turning his back to them and rubbing furiously at his face. “I, ahem, I hope you weren’t waiting long,” he said, turning back around. “I don’t want to monopolize your time any more than I already have.”

“It’s fine,” Aaylis said as Estinien shrugged. “We were kissing with tongue.”

Alphinaud’s jaw fell to the ground. Estinien glowered indignantly at Aaylis, who could only cackle. “Heavens above, your faces! Alphinaud, you look like I’ve just announced I ate your childhood pet! Really now, me and him? Him and me?” He jabbed a finger at Estinien, who was seriously considering punching him again. “I can do so much better.”

“I, um, well I—that is to say I wouldn’t want to presume, but I was under the impression that—I mean, not that it’s any business of mine, but you—and I thought, that with him in particular—”

“Lipstick on your ear,” said Estinien, cutting across the babbling.

Alphinaud swore and turned around a second time, rubbing at his face once again.

“The cussing!” Aaylis teased. “Little Lord Leveilleur, I didn’t know you had it in you! You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“She certainly does,” Estinien quipped. Aaylis barked out a laugh, which got Estinien chuckling himself, particularly as Alphinaud turned to glare at them, all red-faced five-foot-nothing of him.

“If you two are quite finished,” he intoned, his raised hackles giving him almost enough height to crack five-foot-one, “I was going to tell you how much it meant to me that you came to dinner, and how I appreciate you looking out for me all this time, but now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m here because of you,” Estinien said. “Should probably be me saying that to you, I think.”

“Oh,” said Alphinaud, blushing once more. “Well, I… Hmm, you’re welcome?”

“I am here because the thought of having to deal with Estinien complaining about which fork to use was dreadful enough to take me away from a delightful dinner I had successfully conned Y’shtola into paying for.”

“The forks?” Alphinaud asked. “Estinien, if you are actually that concerned about proper etiquette, I would be more than happy to teach you. It wouldn’t take all that long, by my estimation.”

“No, I’m fine. Knew what I was doing.”

“See how he lies?” said Aaylis, the hypocrite. “Anyway, Alphinaud.” He walked up and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I will always appreciate how much faith and trust you place in me. Being here for you and Alisaie is one of the most important things in my life.”

Alphinaud muttered something inaudible, face cherry-red yet again.

“But right now, I am so spectacularly late in checking up on G’raha and Alisaie that I am almost one hundred percent positive they’ve been eaten by a rogue librarian. So I am going to take you—” He hoisted Alphinaud into the air. “—straight to the Annex—” He tossed Alphinaud over his shoulder. “—and then go rescue your sister from the perils of your city’s labyrinthine classification system.”

“Hey, what—put me down! M’ren, what are you doing?! Put me down this instant!”

“Nope,” Aaylis singsonged, not in the slightest bit cowed by Alphinaud’s wiggling legs or flailing punches. “Not until you’re safely tucked into bed for your big day tomorrow.”

“I am perfectly capable of walking there myself!”

“You’re clearly overcome with exhaustion,” said Aaylis, starting to make the trek back to the Baldesion Annex, potentially with Alphinaud over his shoulder the entire time. “Too many kissies will do that.”

Alphinaud started pummeling Aaylis’ back in earnest. “I am not exhausted because of kissies, you ogre! You put me down right now! Estinien, help me!”

“Estinien, grab his legs.”

Estinien, who was maybe a little more like Aaylis than he would readily admit, grabbed Alphinaud’s legs.

***

Krile was a woman accustomed to late night promenades. Before she’d learned to control the Echo, she appreciated the solitude (both physical and mental) that walking after dusk provided. Even after, she’d never quite dropped the habit. Walking the streets all alone was a wonderful way to centre herself after a stressful day. 

Or before one, she supposed, as she rounded the corner towards the Noumenon. For in just a few short hours, her friends and comrades would be shooting across the sea of stars to attempt to destroy the very embodiment of despair, while Krile waited back at home.

It was a tad on the stressful side, yes.

Luckily, she had been busy with work when M’ren and Estinien had, to hear Ojika tell it, bodily dragged Alphinaud into bed. She’d slipped out shortly afterwards to take a tour around the city, stopping by The Last Stand for a midnight bite. Ahh, actual food. Not that she’d ever turn down an Archon loaf, except… Well, to be entirely honest with herself, if she could manage her entire life without ever choking one down, she might die a much happier woman. That’s why she was so invested in that research M’ren was doing with the young woman from the Studium to improve the recipe. Perhaps long research projects might not be quite so daunting a prospect anymore.

If they survived, of course.

But of course they would survive. Krile was entirely confident. The Scions had survived everything the world had thrown at them and came out victorious. Not that she had any impact on tomorrow’s outcome, of course, and would be sitting in the Annex worried out of her mind while her friends were fighting for the lives of every living being at the edge of the known universe.

Hmm. Perhaps another lap was in order.

She came over the hill and saw the Noumenon rise in front of her, lights still burning brightly even this late at night. Of course, no serious Sharlyan scholar would ever tolerate not having access to knowledge at all hours, so there were always a couple employees working with the mammets throughout the night. She was not so studious, but she appreciated that her compatriots were.

Speaking of her compatriots, she could see several people sitting under the gazebo to the left of the Noumenon’s doors. Ojika had mentioned M’ren was headed to the library to check in on Raha and Alisaie, and there was a dash of yellow amongst the red forms sitting on the benches. It appeared he hadn’t succeeded in his mission to shepherd them to bed. Raha was biddable, yes, but Alisaie had inherited her mother’s inability to not give everything her all, as well as her father’s overpowering desire to be one hundred percent right about it. It was entirely likely M’ren had been wrapped up in whatever research had taken them by the ear.

But as Krile got closer, she realized that they weren’t doing any research. In fact, none of them were reading at all. Raha and Alisaie were lying on M’ren—Raha’s head on his shoulder; Alisaie’s on his lap—fast asleep. 

And M’ren was singing.

Seized with the sudden impulse to snoop, Krile hid behind a nearby bush before she was spotted (she was very small, it wasn’t hard). She immediately felt very silly and a little rude besides, but the impressive curiosity of the scholar kept her where she was, crouched in the cold, wet grass.

“—a world I know, a place we can go where the pain will go away. There’s a world where the sun shines each day…”

From her hidden vantage point, she had a very good view of M’ren and she could hear what he was singing. His voice was soft and breathy, barely carrying on the wind. Krile couldn’t think of a time she’d ever heard him sing before.

“There’s a world,” he continued, twirling his fingers through the red hair behind Raha’s ear, “there’s a world out there. I’ll show you just where, and in time I know you’ll see.” He sighed. “There’s a world where we can be free.”

That was… odd, Krile mused, as his soft song continued. Had she ever seen him be physically affectionate with Raha? She knew Raha was besotted with M’ren—anyone with eyes could see that—but M’ren was notoriously cagey about anything more personal than his favourite food. 

“Come with me.” 

In fact, she was almost positive that M’ren wasn’t physically affectionate with anyone, hugging the twins and pestering Y’shtola aside. Was he even aware how Raha felt? Krile had thought to ask him, more than once, but she had never mustered the courage to do so.

“Come with me.”

M’ren was kind and friendly and helpful, but there was a studiedness to how he treated people. One could be forgiven for thinking he was friends with everyone he came across, but Krile had not made it as far in life as she had without being decently observant.

“There’s a world where we can be free.” 

What would he claim, if she called out to him? What would he say? He had knocked shoulders with Raha before, hip-checked him to interrupt a fervent monologue, but this—this was fondness. Wasn’t it?

He ran his hand up Raha’s head and leaned their foreheads together. “Come with me.”

He sighed again, closing his eyes. Krile was desperately curious to know what exactly was going through his mind in that moment. But as he opened his eyes again, Krile knew she’d never ask. Notwithstanding that the Scions had a general policy of not asking him anything too close to the vest, Krile was not actually sure that she and M’ren were friends.

They were friendly, but Krile knew he approached everyone who wasn’t an out and out enemy with the same jovial energy. She had joined the Scions during a particularly turbulent time for them, and, well, she hadn’t proved to be very helpful since then, had she? Captured by the Empire while transporting wounded; left in the Source while they all vanished into the First; and now, of course, left behind as they ventured through Garlemald, to the Moon, and then on to the very edge of space.

What was she even doing there? Honestly, she wondered, as she knelt in the bushes, was there anything she’d offered recently beyond facilitating their entry into Sharlayan and using the connections provided by the Students to help them along their way? She knew the others would protest, but… apart from serving as a mouthpiece for Hydaelyn, she felt as though she offered nothing but empty words to the group of heroes she ostensibly belonged to. And now Hydaelyn was gone.

Krile remembered the look on M’ren’s face when she’d come back to herself, the first time she’d served as voice for the Mother. The message had been vague and cryptic, as was traditionally the case, but M’ren’s expression had been… Hard was not the right word. Distant? Flat? Perhaps… cold? 

She had only seen that expression directed at a colleague once before, many moons ago during their campaign in Ala Mhigo. M’naago had referred to him as Ren, which, being his sister, only made sense. But he had fixed her with a look so emphatically displeased that she’d swallowed so loud, even Krile heard it. And no one had used his familiar name in Krile’s hearing since. She certainly wouldn’t be the first to do so.

Across the way, M’ren had begun singing again. Though Raha was still snoring softly on his shoulder, M’ren’s attention was for Alisaie instead.

“Sweet Allie Leveilleur saw her life pass,” he sang, in a tune much jauntier than the first. “Flew down the city road crying. She is a lass who, alas, loves a lad, who alas has a lass, loves another lad—that once she had.” He poked her nose. “At the Studium, see. ‘Tis a row dow diddle dow day, ‘tis a row dow diddle dow dee, and then!” 

Alisaie grimaced in her sleep, getting a delighted chuckle out of M’ren. Krile realized that this was probably her best moment to approach without looking like she’d been snooping, so she took a few steps back from the bush, brushed herself off, and walked towards the three of them with purpose.

“Hail, friends!” she called, noticing the way M’ren’s hand slipped from cradling Raha’s face to just holding his shoulder.

“Krile!” M’ren called back, voiced pitched to a stage whisper. “Welcome to the Napping Quarter of Old Sharlayan!”

“Oh?” she replied, pretending to notice Raha and Alisaie sleeping for the first time. “Well, I suppose it only makes sense. They have been running themselves ragged as of late.”

“You can say that again.” M’ren patted Alisaie’s shoulder with his free hand. “You should have seen them when I arrived, Krile: asleep sitting straight up. I sat down between them to peruse what they’d been reading—” He pointed a foot at the pile of books on the ground that Krile hadn’t noticed. “—and they gravitated towards me like a lizard looking for warmth.”

Krile giggled. “I am told you run warm.”

“I run very warm. Relatedly: I am boiling. G’raha is a furnace.”

“We could wake them up. I imagine they’d prefer to be working away at their last bits of research.”

M’ren shook his head. “That’s exactly what they’d prefer, but I’d prefer for them to get some level of rest. Both of them are like to stay up all night long and arrive at Ultima Thule dead on their feet. This may be the only rest they get at all.”

“And you?”

M’ren looked at her, expression unreadable. “I’ll sleep just fine,” he said. “I need far less than they do.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Krile. I have been blessed with greater energy reserves than almost anyone alive, I have no trouble falling asleep, and I will be able to get some rest on the Ragnarok. I don’t mind being a pillow for these two serial overworkers.”

It was moments like these that made Krile think M’ren perhaps didn’t like her all that much, but she did not voice that worry. Instead, she tried to school her expression into one of comfort and understanding. “M’ren, don’t forget that you deserve kindness too. I…” She hesitated, but the words were already coming and the only thing to do was make them as palatable as possible. “I worry about you.”

“About me?” M’ren asked incredulously. “I’m irrepressible, Krile. I won’t lose tomorrow.”

“Not that,” she said, before thinking it over. “Well, not solely that. I worry for your happiness too. After everything you’ve done, after everything you’ve sacrificed, don’t you deserve some comfort and joy for yourself? A hearty meal, or a comfortable bed, or visiting far-off lands, or—or finding true love—” M’ren’s hand surreptitiously slid off Raha’s shoulder. “—you deserve these things too. There’s so much that life has to offer, and we often get swept up in the fighting and the chaos, and I just want—that is to say, I think you should—” She paused, before deciding to just speak simply. “Please don’t forget about your own happiness, in all this. The joy in our lives is often our greatest strength, and you should get to be part of that as well.”

M’ren did not say anything, and Krile instantly worried she’d overstepped the inscrutable limits of their camaraderie. But then she heard a sniff, and looked up to see M’ren biting his lip and staring quite resolutely up at the roof of the gazebo. She did not press him.

After a moment, he nodded a few times and seemed able to meet her eye once more, but only for a couple seconds. “Thank you, Krile,” he said, looking very intently at her left ear. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It is the very least I could do,” she assured him. Then she bit her own lip and looked down. “Quite literally, it would seem.”

“No, Krile, no,” M’ren said, trying to sit up without dislodging either of his snoozing hangers-on. “Don’t tell yourself that. There’s more to winning than combat, you just said—”

“Stop wriggling, M’ren, I can’t feel your chest like this.”

M’ren and Krile stopped, shared a look, then stared down at Raha, who murmured something far less audible, snuggled in closer under M’ren’s arm, and reached up and placed his palm over M’ren’s left pectoral. “Aah,” he sighed, breathy with sleep, “very nice.” He was snoring again a second later.

The two of them kept staring at him until it became clear that he was actually still asleep, then chanced a look at each other.

M’ren had gone so red that the Miqo'te markings on his face were almost invisible, and he was biting his lip again, although this time it was very obviously to keep from laughing. Unfortunately, he looked quite ridiculous, so Krile snorted, and then he snorted, and then the two of them burst into laughter that filled the air between them.

“What is…” Raha mumbled, eyes fluttering. “M’ren, can you check the source of that… noise…” His eyes snapped open, but he did not immediately move. He looked at Krile, who was covering her mouth in a vain attempt to keep her voice down, and then looked up at who he was snuggling with a look of dawning horror.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” M’ren called with a wicked glee. “Can I have my chest back?”

Raha looked up to where his hand still lay firmly on M’ren’s chest and flushed as red as his hair. He shot off M’ren like he’d been doused in water and actually squealed with dismay. “I—no—yes—I—oh no—you—no—I—,” he stammered, covering his face entirely with his hands. The only bit Krile could see was a sliver of cherry-red skin and a wide, mortified eye.

M’ren opened his mouth to tease him again, but then Alisaie, who had managed to sleep through the singing, talking and laughing, started to stir. “Alphinaud,” she hissed, swinging out with a wild punch that nearly caught M’ren in the ear, “will you keep it down?! I’m trying to—” She stopped, poked M’ren’s thigh with her finger and, once it did not prove to be to her liking, scrunched her eyes shut tight. “This is the dream,” she muttered. “This is the dream and in a minute I’ll wake up and be in my room and I won’t be—”

“Rise and shine, darling!” M’ren sang.

Alisaie was off him in a second, standing up, swinging her arms and shouting all the while.

“What—” Raha whispered. “What is going on? Why are you here? Why is he here?? What happened?”

“—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—”

“I came to check up on you, as did M’ren.”

“I—huh? Oh gods, we fell asleep?”

“—aaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA—”

“Not that there’s any shame in it, but you were sleeping like babies.”

Raha hid his face in his hands again. “And how much… Um, what did I… Say? Words? I didn’t, right?”

“—AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaAAAAAAAAA—”

It was nearly impossible not to laugh. “There may have been some.”

“Oh no. How embarrassing…”

“—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

“Alisaie, will you get a hold of yourself? You’re going to pass out!”

Still mid-wallop of M’ren, who was cackling so hard he was crying, Alisaie audibly and painfully choked down her next holler and tried to compose herself. She spun on M’ren.

“Not a word to anyone. Understood? Not. One. Word.”

“I believe sleeping in proper beds is a much more effective way to prepare for battle,” Krile teased.

“That’s your drool on my leg,” said M’ren.

Alisaie started punching him again.

“Why are you—” Raha began, trying to compose himself. It was barely effective, since his face was still the same shade as his hair. “What brought you to the Noumenon so late?”

The truth (insomnia, worry, terror, self-doubt) would put quite a damper on their little gathering, so she decided to offer a plausible lie instead. “I had some books to return, and now seemed like a decent moment to do so.”

Raha nodded, taking her answer on faith. He then visibly steeled himself before looking over at M’ren, who had a hand on Alisaie’s forehead and was holding her back as she swung at him. “And you?”

“I figured you two were probably ankle-deep in research instead of getting some damned rest,” he replied, batting away a close swing with his free hand. “Found you napping and thought it’d serve you better to get what sleep you could. I didn’t realize you two were such cuddle bugs!”

Alisaie started yelling again, while Raha curled up on the bench and made such a despondent face that it looked very much like killing him would be a mercy.

“Well, anyway,” Krile said, managing to stifle her last chuckle behind her hand, “now that that’s settled, shall we put these books away and head back to the Annex? Perhaps sleep on something that isn’t stone?”

Alisaie sniffed, squaring her shoulders. “I’m fine. Might go get some air. Maybe a quick bout of training. Not sleep, though. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

M’ren gave her a very serious look. “Alisaie Leveilleur, you are going to bed this minute. You’re no help to anyone exhausted.”

Alisaie looked like she might acquiesce for a second, but then her hackles went back up. “You’re not my father, you don’t control my bedtime.”

M’ren blinked. Then he stood up, and although Krile knew on an overall level that he wasn’t particularly tall, he was taller than all three people present in that moment, and the look he gave Alisaie as he crossed his arms made him seem all the larger.

“If we were to visit the Annex right at this moment,” he began, looking portentously down at Alisaie, “you will find your brother snug as a bug in the rug I left him trapped in after carrying him there myself. Do you think you’ll have any greater success than him at stopping me?”

Alisaie was uncowed. “Alphinaud wouldn’t stab you with his hairpin to escape.” She pointed to the fancy hair decoration she always wore. “I will.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” She grinned competitively up at M’ren. “And anyroad, I run faster.”

Then she booked it into the night.

Everyone stared at where she’d finally disappeared from sight. After a moment, Krile spoke. “I suppose we had best follow her.”

M’ren shrugged, stretching out his shoulders and his neck. “I am not chasing down a teenager who’s too tired to admit she’s tired. She’ll get half a malm and then be so exhausted she goes to bed herself.”

Krile smiled at him. “Was this your plan, then?”

“I know how those kids work,” he said, letting a little braggadociousness slide into his tone. Then his mouth turned down a fraction. “I know what they need. Anyway, G’raha, will you need to be bodily put to bed?”

Raha went pink. “No, I assure you I am more than capable.” He glanced down at the pile of books still on the ground. “Although perhaps I should put these books away before I get in even more trouble with the Forum. We don’t know how long they’ll be away.”

“I’m sure nobody will mind,” said M’ren, raising an eyebrow and winking at Krile.

“Well then, you don’t know the Forum,” said Raha, entirely seriously. He bent to pick up some of the aforementioned books when his stomach growled. “And then maybe a bite to eat. I’m absolutely famished.” He paused, then looked at M’ren, obviously going for nonchalant (and failing, the way his ears were quivering). “And yourself?”

M’ren pretended to give it some thought. “Well,” he finally said, with a shrug, “I suppose I could eat.”

Raha’s ears perked all the way up, immediately sacrificing even his paltry attempt at indifference. “Excellent! Allow me to return these books, and then I will rejoin you here anon.” He then proceeded to scoop up every single book that was on the ground and fairly sprint towards the doors of the Noumenon.

Krile looked at M’ren, knowing for a fact that he was about to be on his way to his third dinner of the night. “Very hungry, are you?”

M’ren, who had been watching Raha scamper off, looked back at her with a bemused look. “I am never not hungry, Krile. And besides, my own happiness is currently taking the shape of three cheese omelettes at The Last Stand. Maybe four. Five?”

She chuckled. “Well, so long as you remember to get some rest too, yes? I seem to recall someone saying that we’re no use to anyone exhausted.”

“Oh no, she pays attention when I say things, that’s always very dangerous for me.” M’ren flashed her a grin. “Thank you for what you said, Krile. I appreciate it. Even if I may occasionally be a hypocrite about it.”

“By which you mean to say, you will not be heading to bed any time soon.”

“By which I mean to say I won’t be heading to bed any time soon, yes.” He looked over at the Noumenon, where Raha had just exited and begun making his way back to them. “And I think I might actually have to put him to bed myself, or he’ll just read all night.”

“He might enjoy that,” Krile murmured. She cursed herself immediately afterward, but M’ren didn’t even look back at her, so perhaps he hadn’t heard. She wouldn’t be making any progress with him if she crossed boundaries that the others (Y’shtola, always Y’shtola) had made clear should not be crossed. And they’d had such a wonderful conversation, too.

“Well, anyway,” M’ren said—voice betraying nothing—as Raha rejoined them, “have a good night, Krile.”

“Yes, good night,” she replied as they walked off together. 

And then she was alone.

Hmm.

Perhaps another lap.