Chapter Text
Rodney woke up reluctantly, a few hours’ sleep, another afternoon in an uncomfortable imperial bunk. He didn’t want to get up and face another shift - not that he had any choice. Even if he had felt ill, his superiors now wouldn’t give a shit, certainly wouldn’t give him any time off. And one day off wouldn’t fix anything about his situation anyway. He had to do over a decade more service, get himself killed or… desert and wind up getting himself killed for desertion.
He pushed himself up, shifted out of his bunk, headed into the washroom to piss and wash off the sweat of sleeping during hot Ala Mhigan days. Then he had to put on the miserable uncomfortable uniform, poorly designed for the heat and not even protective enough for Rodney’s liking, and went to eat the mediocre fair that he was meant to be grateful was better than what the aan here typically received.
At least the sun was going down by the time he reached his guard post, the heat would ease off a bit, and it was fairly unlikely he’d be in mortal peril up on the wall. Still, a different day and he’d be down among the resentful aan and, although most were cowed, it only took one to get a lucky shot in and it’d be all over. And for what? Maybe he’d be free and treated less shittily back in Dalmasca in his 40s?
He didn’t really know why he cared so much to not die, his whole life was drudgery. Dalmasca didn’t even seem like a silver lining; he’d probably spend the rest of his family’s lives hearing about how well Rachel had done and how hadn’t he done anything of note in twenty years of service? He kicked the metal wall in frustration. It ought to be easier to have it end, but somehow when faced with it… Maybe he didn’t have to die, maybe the Garleans would fire him for being crap and he’d live out the rest of his days as an aan being spat upon.
The watch up here was thin tonight beneath the silver moon as he sat on the floor against the railings. Rodney wondered if Dalamud used to paint these views red. If it had obliterated Eorzea properly maybe he’d be posted somewhere else. He doubted it would be much of an improvement.
Rodney’s senses jumped to life at a faint unexpected noise. It wasn’t up on the wall with him, or not yet at least. He realised that, sat as he was, he may not have been very visible. Could it be the resistance? He shifted low, carefully moving his bow into an accessible position without it touching the floor, and looked down over the edge.
There was movement down there, shadows moving of more than one person. Had Rodney been in charge, he would have had people cut down all the trees near the wall, but good luck catching any leader up here since van Baelsar disappeared off on some mission to leave the pureblood assholes in charge. Could Rodney be sure it wasn’t troops slacking off? Surely they’d be louder. He could fire an arrow down, maybe they’d run off. Or they might come up here after him. He could probably yell loud enough for the nearest soldiers to come help. If they cared to. Maybe they’d send a machina, though truth be told Rodney didn’t trust those not to friendly fire on soldiers like him in the middle of the night.
Perhaps he should just monitor. If it was resistance, maybe he could find one of their paths through the wall. Maybe he could catch one of them without endangering himself too much. Might be enough to warrant one nice meal at least.
A noise was getting louder. One was climbing the nearest tree. Rodney’s throat tightened in fear – not a good sign for shouting for help. He shifted onto his back, drawing his bow as best he could in the direction of the tree occasionally rustling, getting up onto his knees at least.
A figure jumped and Rodney saw a blur of a bow in their hands too-
He dropped his arrow as pain suddenly shot through his head.
HEAR. FEEL. THINK. A woman’s voice inside his head as his vision whited out.
He was floating in a blue void, dwarfed by a huge blue crystal. Feelings of dread, of power, of great sadness, of confusion. He didn’t understand what was happening.
In time he came back to, clutching his head, and saw a tall man – a viera – doing the same. Their eyes met in the dark. Rodney probably should have tried to retrieve his arrow but felt exhausted. The viera put his own bow back on his back, gave him a smile, and leapt off the wall to a tree on the other side. Rodney pulled himself up by the railing to watch him go, disappearing back into the leafy shadows and the greater darkness. There was no further sound once he was gone.
Rodney had missed the resistance, or whatever they were. Since when were there viera this far west? He’d heard of and saw them rarely back in Dalmasca, but if there’d ever even been any in the Garlean army Rodney hadn’t served with or even seen them. Did the resistance have viera? Perhaps somehow they did.
Rodney should tell someone, should let them know- …what? That he’d passed out on the job? That he’d let a bunch of probable resistance members get past the wall without even raising the alarum? So that he could be flogged and/or humiliated for being another worthless savage?
Nobody else had seen them here. Nobody else knew. Nobody really needed to know. Maybe. Maybe he’d see them again another time, better prepared. Maybe… maybe he’d see that viera again.
That smile… Why did he smile at him…?