Work Text:
There it is again, Arenvald thought as he took in his surroundings. That dream.
He was standing under the welcoming sunlight outside the building that concealed the Scions’ headquarters, the Waking Sands. The stone bricks were greying with salt and grime. While it had been a long time since his last visit, his memory was not troubled to reconstruct the simple features of the site.
The same could not be said of the faces of his found family.
A’aba sat atop a wooden crate outside in the streets, bumping his sandalled heels against them as he moved his legs. His appraising smile still came through cleanly, but the Miqo’te markings around his eyes had grown indistinct. I don’t remember which eye the patch used to be over, or how big his beard was, but his blue-black hair was always pulled far back. A'aba exuded the aura of an alert elder brother with his fluffy ears standing tall above his head.
The self-titled elder sister, Aulie, crouched next to the crates, though she still appeared tall. She used to do that a lot. Her platinum white hair was cut medium-short in a way that reminded Arenvald of griffin feathers. Her slender ears were the long Elezen kind, and her smirk challenged him to a bet over the number of passengers on the next ship. What colour were her eyes, Arenvald wondered as his focus glided over her vaguely drawn orbs.
It doesn’t matter. I’m home.
He joined A’aba and Aulie by the crates and leaned against them. Together, they stared out from their lookout on Vesper Bay towards the incoming ships, though there were none. There were no wave crests or seagulls in sight either. The surface of the water was tranquil like an unconscious man, which Arenvald knew himself to be.
I wonder if the Echo makes me lucid during dreams.
For the longest time, whenever Arenvald was dragged into involuntary slumber, he had entered his mental shelter. There, he could see the only real family he had ever had. The first few times, all he could do was chastise them for sacrificing their lives to protect him. He would awake with his face wet with tears. Over time, the upbraiding gave way to apologies for letting them down or not being strong enough. Then that gave way too.
The lands outside Vesper Bay to the east and north were nothing more than white blotches, but that was fine since Arenvald never left. As long as he was there, he was content to linger with A’aba and Aulie, cherishing the bonds he took for granted while they yet lived.
A’aba opened his mouth to speak. Memories of their conversations flooded Arenvald. There the two of them were, joking about A’aba wielding his sword with his right-hand despite being left-handed. Next they were comparing food recipes, Arenvald bringing his from the Ala Mhigo he grew up in, and A’aba offering the ones he had picked up across the realm.
Then they traded words quietly, as if just saying them took all their bravery. They spoke of being forced to leave home, whether by his aggrieved mother in Arenvald’s case or by a disdainful tribe in A’aba’s.
The conversation would not last. Aulie would shove them both with that rough sweetness of hers. She opened her mouth and the voice was gone, but Arenvald recalled her nuggets of wisdom: how to hold a spear with one or two hands, how to point and couch it; how to dive into the ice-cold waters of the Bay in the winter and make it out alive; how to woo a woman.
In the sunspeckled remembrance, Arenvald sighed. I’m alive and they’re dead. I’ve got nothing to show for it besides memories and the hole in my heart. And that’s just how it goes. We head on, for those we can yet save. He glanced around. Frankly, it’s just comforting, now. I’ve not forgotten them, not their essence.
Everything was as it always had been, until for some reason, a nagging instinct caused Arenvald to turn towards the east side where the bounds of his memory lay. There, instead of a white nothingness, he saw fields of golden grass taller than him. An infinitely stretching prairie had merged with Vesper Bay, a fusion of two locales. The grasslands extended towards the horizon, above which another sun shone harshly orange. An ominous black tower rose from the grass in the distance.
Pagl’than…! Arenvald swallowed. Why am I seeing that place?
His head ached with a rush of memories lacking the usual tenderness of his dream. That’s right! I was in Pagl’than before this… Or am I remembering wrong? Was that long ago? I can’t tell… Sweat beaded on his forehead as he started to wrestle with reality, but still, he could not leave the dreamscape behind.
Then, he saw her. From the golden plains, a woman with copper red hair and a dark blue tattoo of waves on her face marched towards him. Fordola! The grass parted around her, and Arenvald was surprised to see how clearly he could recall her gambison, trousers and thighboots. Her buckler and sword were just right, too. Her green eyes were as visible as A’aba and Aulie’s had been when Arenvald had first dreamed of them, right after they had passed on.
No! Arenvald squeezed shut his hands and grimaced. You’re not dead! His throat burned. Not you too — I won’t accept it!
His legs were rooted to the spot as Fordola crossed the threshold of the plains and stepped onto the stone avenue of the Bay. He stayed there as she approached him, scowling. He pushed the tears away as she grabbed hold of his shirt with both hands.
He shook his head, closing his eyes. ‘Please, no… I’m sorry, I should’ve been the one to…’
Her voice reached him like hot coals under his heart: ‘What in the Seven Hells were you thinking, you git!?’
Arenvald opened his eyes, awake.
He was laying on a small bed. His body was covered in white sheets. They were crumpled in Fordola’s hands as she held onto them, directing all of her ire and worries towards him.
‘You gormless arse!’
Lifting his head from a pillow, he saw the surroundings were those of a patient room. The walls had that sandstone touch so typical of Ul’dah. There was a Lalafellin chirurgeon standing near the two of them, leafing through documents.
I’m… I’m in Ul’dah. His eyes shifted to meet Fordola’s. Hers were watery. She carried me after Pagl’than? She carried me… To someone in the Alliance.
We’re safe.
‘Never, ever do that again! You bloody idiot! I'm the expendable one, not you! I should've taken that blow!’
With overwhelming relief, Arenvald laid his head back down on the pillow and smiled. ‘Thank the Gods, you’re alive…’