Disclaimer: Of course Final Fantasy XIV, and all its expansions are not my intellectual property. This is fanfiction. The only thing that's actually mine is the text of this story.
Author's Notes for this story, if they apply to the story as a whole and not only to the specific chapter they appear in, can be found on my profile. If multiple reviewers ask the same question, and I think it's sufficiently important and can't be answered within the story itself, I shall answer it in an FAQ for this story there.
SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKERS! It wasn't just an inexplicable one-shot after all! I told myself I'd get this out before Stormblood, and I DID! Yay!
First uploaded: 2017/06/10
Chapter 2: Meet the OCs!
Now, if dying really sucks, then waking up again just sucks even more. The dead ought to be glad they're dead; they don't have to deal with all the shite that comes afterwards, do they? Such as recovering from horrible injuries, or picking up the pieces of what used to be your home, or cleaning up after the dead. I've never seen Cila as ragged as he looked while he was in charge of the relief efforts, not even when he became chairman of Gold Sands. Watching the city you were born and raised in fall victim to the Calamity tends to have that effect on you, I hear, and so does having your friends and family go missing.
Of course, it could've been worse. It can always be worse. I could've woken up in a far more hostile environment, without anyone to help me. And Bango came back safely, at least. But really, if I'd ended up in, say, the middle of the wilderness after the Calamity, wounded and alone, then I would've just died, and I wouldn't be here now. We wouldn't be here now...
Well, anyway, I suppose it's a good thing I ended up where I did, although I find it rather difficult to be grateful for that, knowing it was by design and not completely by chance. It didn't make what came next any less... aggravating. All that waiting. The... the anticipation was really the worst part of it, but at least I did find ways to fill my time.
Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 3rd Umbral Moon, 11th Sun
"Good evening, milady," Mina said brightly, as she entered the room. She had excellent timing; I had woken up only a few minutes ago, and was in the process of gently stretching myself out, mindful of the few remaining aches that served to remind me of my injuries. Siesta was skilled at healing her own physical wounds with conjury - Mama and Papa had both drilled her endlessly on the finer points of self-healing - but even so, injuries on the scale she had suffered would have taken some time to heal. Ul'dah's medical resources had been understandably stretched thin as they were, and so I was left to recover on my own, while the physicians of the city tended to those far more injured than I was.
Having limbered myself up, I returned my attention to Mina, who had continued speaking after glancing me over, "If you're feelin' well enough, Miss Siesta, Lord Tango will be joining us for dinner tonight. Lady Ailala wants to know if you'll dine with them as well." As she spoke, she set about preparing the washstand and dressing table for my use, as she had every day since I had woken from my coma; filling the basin with water from the pitchers she had carried in with her and laying out the towels and brush that had been provided for me.
I didn't need very long to think about it, really. It would only be the second time that Uncle Tango had been able to dine at home while I was awake, and I had missed the first opportunity to join him and Aunt Ailala due to my inability to manage the stairs, with or without aid. This morning had been the first time I'd been able to roll over to sleep on my side without any pain. I nodded at her.
"Good evening, Mina, and yes, I believe I can this time," I said, pushing myself into a sitting position and rubbing at my eyes. When I made to stand up, she was next to me, ready to offer her arm, but I held up my hand. "I can manage, thank you, and I have the yarn on the table there ready for the taking." Being physically dependent on someone else for the simplest of movements during these past few weeks had taken a larger toll on my patience than I cared to admit, and as sedentary as I had been on Earth, I was eager to just be able to walk normally on my own again. Thankfully, Mina was astute enough to realise this, and when Aunt Ailala wasn't around to see it, was perfectly willing to leave me be until I asked for help.
Instead, she turned towards the window, where Siesta's spinning wheel had been set up next to the couch, and approached the little end table which held the three baskets of yarn I'd stacked there this morning before going to bed. Hefting them into her arms, she paused, looking around at the conspicuous lack of the raw hemp, cotton, and flax I'd been given two days ago, meant to last the week, and then turned back to me, her eyes wide with incredulity.
"Milady, how long were you working last night?" she asked, her gaze flitting between me and the baskets. I shrugged from where I was now standing in front of the washstand, wringing out a towel that I had dipped in the basin.
"Only a few hours, really. It was nothing," I said, before burying my face into the towel to scrub away the sleep, and smother my scoff at the idea that that had been all I was expected to produce for the week. Mina and Aunt Ailala were only concerned for my health; no matter how much it frustrated me, it wouldn't do to seem ungrateful. But really, reading and embroidery would've only occupied me so long until I went stir-crazy, cooped up in this room on the second floor of Uncle Tango's mansion, with hours upon hours of nothing but silence and my thoughts for a constant companion.
By virtue of her Keeper heritage and lifestyle, Siesta's body was accustomed to a nocturnal schedule, and I was perfectly content to continue on this sleeping rhythm, which I'd settled back into a mere five days after waking. Even in the early evening, the rays from the setting sun was enough to make me wince whenever I glanced out the window; the same enlarged pupils that granted Keeper Mi'qote their excellent night vision were a complete pain in the arse when there was too much light around. Unfortunately, staying awake when almost everyone else in the household was asleep, and vice versa, resulted in a distinct lack of options for relaxed entertainment during my waking hours.
Physically, I was fine with reading and needlework by moonlight or starlight if it was available, and by the dying embers in the fireplace or a dim crystal-powered lamp if it was a cloudy or moonless night. The problems lay in the facts that deciphering the strange Eorzean script, so unfamiliar to me and still so complicated to Siesta, gave me a headache, Aunt Ailala's questionable notions of what constituted appropriate literature for a teenage girl were giving me an uncomfortable insight into her personal tastes, and there were only so many flowers and initials I could stitch before I ran out of handkerchiefs and ennui set in.
Hence, a week and a half ago, I'd put my foot down as firmly as I could without seeming impolite or ungrateful, and asked Aunt Ailala to put me to work. Back home on Earth, I might have been fine with an unhurried, peaceful convalescence, but that would have been in a modern 21st-century society that hadn't been freshly wrecked by an apocalypse, with access to the internet and all the entertainment that entailed. Siesta, in contrast, had never been the type to enjoy idle rest, had always ached to be useful, accomplished, and praised for her skills. More importantly, in the silent dead of night, my anxieties and Siesta's grief had a nasty tendency to creep up on me without anything else to occupy the time.
Of all of Siesta's many skills, the only one that would afford me an occupation while confined to the room was clothcraft. Operating a full loom with my injuries had been out of the question, but that didn't rule out cutting and stitching together the light clothes, bandages, blankets, and linens that the wounded people of Ul'dah needed urgently, or, as I had been doing the night before, spinning the yarn used to weave the cloth for these supplies. The quality and quantity of my work had been shaky and low at first, but it had taken me little time to improve, familiarising myself with the motions ingrained into my hands by Siesta's long hours of practice in the past. Best of all, producing quality supplies, in the quantities I aspired to produce, took enough of my attention that I could simply forget the realities of my situation for the time being.
The only issues I encountered with my work were neatly encapsulated by the expression of the maidservant who was now holding the fruits of my labour and staring at me, chewing on her lip as she hesitated with whatever she wanted to say next. As the maid in charge of tending to my needs during my now-indefinite stay here, she had a vested interest in my well-being, yet was not exactly in a position to reprimand me for doing anything detrimental to my health; hence her current dilemma. I returned her gaze in the mirror of the washstand for a moment, before biting back an aggrieved sigh and turning to face her properly.
"Really, it's nothing," I said, waving at the baskets. "If I weren't injured, I could work much better and faster than this."
"But you are injured, milady," Mina finally said, not holding back her own sigh. "You're wounded and recovering; you should be resting and letting us look after you as we ought to be able to, not workin' yourself to the bone for others." It was a touching sentiment, but one I'd heard already, from Aunt Ailala herself, and hearing it again wasn't about to change my mind.
"I am resting, Mina," I said, trying to be appreciative of her concern. She could, at least, discern the difference between being active during my recovery and overworking myself, and was only trying to prevent the latter. "It's nice that you and Aunt Ailala care about me, but I do know my limits, and I won't do anything to jeopardise my healing. If my work did put too much strain on me, I'd know before anyone else, and I would stop. Just... trust me on that, if nothing else." Because that really was the issue here: Aunt Ailala and Mina saw me for the child that I was, partially in mind and fully in body for now. Being treated as a child who didn't know anything better, even in such a relatively minor way, was almost as trying as being forced to depend on others for help in walking had been, but I would just have to deal with it for the time being.
To my relief, Mina let the matter drop at that, shaking her head with another sigh. "I'll put these with the rest of the supplies, then. Will you be taking a bath, milady?" she said, pausing just before the door. A bath was tempting, truly; in the arid deserts of Thanalan, it was a rare opportunity to relax tense muscles and soothe the pain of injuries such as mine, but at the same time, such a simple luxury seemed almost distasteful in the wake of an apocalypse. In Uncle Tango's home, I slept in a warm, soft bed, ate finely-prepared food, and didn't have to lift a single finger in work if I didn't want to. Meanwhile, outside the walls of this mansion, tens of thousands of people were picking up the pieces of their home, or trying to treat and recover from injuries in far worse conditions than the ones I enjoyed.
"I'll be fine with a shower," I said, compromising between my desires to be as little of a burden as possible, and to be presentable for dinner. With a final nod and a small smile, Mina exited the room, leaving me to finish getting ready for the day, and prepare for dinner later that night.
It would be at dinner when I finally met Cila Zila for the first time after the Calamity. Uncle Tango and Aunt Ailala had elected to have their meal served in their private dining room, between the kitchens and Uncle Tango's office on the first floor. Cila strode into the room, stopping just short of bursting through the doors, and interrupted Uncle Tango in the midst of a rather long tirade about Syndicate politics, which was, naturally, hampering the trade and transportation of relief supplies across Eorzea. As he reached the dining table, he nodded at me in acknowledgement.
"Siesta, 'tis a pleasure to see you well. Would that it could be under better circumstances," he said, his tone and bearing betraying his fatigue as he turned to his parents, presenting them with a sheaf of papers. His clothes, as well as what little skin they exposed, were covered with dust and stained with sweat and grime, but underneath all that, his skin had been bleached by exhaustion, contrasting against the dark shadows below his reddish-brown eyes.
"What news of the delays, Cila?" Uncle Tango asked without preamble, as Aunt Ailala took the papers and began reading through them, their dinner forgotten. I set my own knife and fork down, folding my hands in my lap, while Cila straightened his back and shoulders, banishing all traces of his weariness as best he could.
"That report," Cila said, indicating the papers, "includes the preliminary reports of landscape surveys in Western and Eastern Thanalan, from Highwind Skyways. The caverns in the former region appear to have collapsed in on themselves, cutting off the overland trade routes from Vesper Bay until we can clear the path or, more likely, construct a bridge. For the time being, supply ships to and from Vylbrand have been docking at the Silver Bazaar, which is currently straining under the surge in traffic. As for Eastern Thanalan, an impassable gorge now divides the land itself, and expeditions to find new land routes to the Black Shroud are being organised as we speak. These obstructions are but one reason for the delays in the shipments, Father."
"And what are the others?" Uncle Tango asked, motioning for Cila to draw a chair for himself. He did so, visibly sagging in his seat, while Aunt Ailala's frown grew more pronounced and her lips pursed ever tighter, the more she read.
"Bandits." Cila spat the word like a curse, his eyes narrowing in disgust. It would've been a comical expression on a Lalafell's face, but the sheer vehemence of his rage struck me; Siesta had never seen him this angry about anything before. "Bandits, Father, beastmen and spoken alike. They prey on the supply caravans travelling to and from Ul'dah, and there are not enough good men left in the realm to defend against them!"
"What of the Brass Blades?" Uncle Tango said, heedless of his son's displays of anger. "What the Lominsans do for the supplies within their borders is out of our hands, but surely 'tis well within our ability to arrange for security details while they are in Thanalan?"
Cila laughed bitterly. "The accounts of both eyewitnesses and survivors indicate that a bandit is like as not to be bearing the arms of the Brass Blades. The caravans that do arrive safely are most often guarded by adventurers, or skilled refugees. Some of my men in the black markets have sent word that the stolen supplies have been found for sale," he said, growing more heated with every word, and abruptly brought his fist down hard on the table, making me jump as the plates rattled. His teeth were bared, and he was breathing harshly through them. Aunt Ailala's only reaction to this was to look up, directing her frown at him.
"Cila-" she said, but he cut her off.
"Is there no end to their greed and depravity? They shied away from Carteneau, and now they steal from the wounded and starving, seeking to profit from them!" Unable to contain himself through mere shouting, he now jumped from his seat and began pacing across the thick woven rug sprawled on the floor. "Those bloody, craven, thieving whoresons-!"
"Cila," Aunt Ailala said again, and this time her tone cut straight through his rage, such that he stopped and turned towards her automatically. "Comport yourself properly now, or need I remind you of our presence? And cease your needless accusations against the Brass Blades. I will not deny the corruption that plagues their ranks, but that gives you no leave to slander the names of the good men and women who serve Ul'dah." Her words drained his anger, deflating him like a balloon, and he coughed sheepishly.
"My apologies, Mother, Siesta. I forgot myself," he said, and turned back to Uncle Tango. "Above all else, Father, the bandits are our largest concern. The only shipments that are guaranteed safe passage are those being transported via airship, directly between the cities, and those are reserved for medical supplies and personnel, not food or building materials." Part of me was amused at how concerned Aunt Ailala was about his behaviour - whether as Siesta or myself, I had heard far worse language before - but I was mainly torn between two emotions: a growing fury on behalf of the people who were being robbed of their daily necessities, and a disquieted surprise at this anger building inside me.
My life on Earth had been a relatively peaceful existence compared to Siesta's nomadic childhood. Living in an affluent, modern city, where the crime rate was low enough to leave me untouched, the idea of relief supplies being stolen by armed bandits might have sparked some shock and indignation in me, but nothing more. I would have never had the ability, authority, or opportunity to do anything about it, and I certainly wasn't enough of a fool to even imagine hunting such robbers down like some kind of vigilante. But Siesta had been raised by parents who had believed in doling out their personal brand of justice, had been trained by them to fight off attacks from bandits on the road and to hunt down criminals if they had to, and now I had to deal with the consequences of the morals that had been drilled into her.
I clenched my hands, fighting down the urge to take up my knives and bow again, to sneak out of Ul'dah and into the deserts of Thanalan. Against my will, my mind conjured up images of maps and traced out routes, the threads of a plan coming together to form the tapestry of an ambush. It would be so easy, my newfound instincts whispered, I need a little more information, of course, but that's easy to get, and the Calamity has no doubt changed the landscape, so find out the new roads these caravans are taking. Find a choke point - there's always bound to be at least a few on the route - and arrange a trap, just like Papa taught me. Bandits like these aren't that smart, if they stick to attacking multiple caravans on the same route, but probably full of bravado, confident in their numbers and arms. They'd never see a trap coming - maybe a hidden tar pit, or just some good old sticky bombs, with an added incendiary - never see me coming, I know how to put arrows in a man's throat from thirty yalms away...
No! It was the utter height of stupidity to go looking for criminals as a thirteen-year-old girl, let alone thinking of fighting or killing them. What kind of upbringing did a child have to have, that planning and executing an ambush came so easily to her? But I knew the answer to that question already, since it was now in my head. Within my fists, I dug my nails into the flesh of my palms, focusing on the pain to wrench my attention from my thoughts, and returned to observing the conversation at hand.
"What forces have we at hand to patrol the roads?" Uncle Tango was asking now, with Cila resettled in his seat and his furious glare dialed back down to the tired frown he had entered the room with. Aunt Ailala had finished her perusal of the report in the meantime, and passed it to her husband. "The Immortal Flames are in disarray from Carteneau, and still recovering, but surely we have men to spare from the Gold Braziers? And what of the Stone Torches?" he continued, referring to the private military forces of the Gold Sands Bank and Amajina & Sons Mineral Concern, respectively.
Cila leaned forward, placing his crossed forearms on the tabletop to support his weight, as he considered the question and his answer. The exhale of defeat he huffed was not encouraging. "Without the Brass Blades, we are stretched far too thin for anyone's comfort. The Concern has dedicated the bulk of the Stone Torches to aiding with the excavations and surveys of the changed landscape, or to clearing the rubble of collapsed buildings. The remainder guards the roads to and within the Concern's holdings in Northern Thanalan. Hence, we can expect nothing more from them," he said, shaking his head, though he still seemed far less annoyed than I'd expected. "None from among their numbers seem to have taken to banditry, at the very least, so we may yet be thankful for that. As for the Gold Braziers... Father, you know where they are now; you delegated their tasks yourself. No; they are occupied to the last able body and we have no one to spare."
"Then perhaps 'tis past time to re-examine their orders," Aunt Ailala said, mirroring Cila's frown of consideration. "If I recall correctly, the Braziers have been largely assigned to aiding with our relief and peacekeeping efforts within Ul'dah. Surely that does not require the strength of all our soldiers?"
"Perhaps not, Mother, but I may yet have a solution to this quandary, one that does not necessitate exacerbating the people's privations," Cila said, his countenance lightening a shade for the first time that evening, before he hesitated, casting a glance at Uncle Tango.
"From the looks of you, I wager I will not like what you have to say," said Uncle Tango, with a resigned huff, "but nonetheless, speak."
Despite the encouragement, it still took Cila a moment of silent, minute fidgeting before he voiced his suggestion, "If we could but enlist the aid of the Sultansworn-"
"No," Uncle Tango said, now taking his turn to surprise me with an outburst. "I will not have the sultana put at any more risk than she already is in these turbulent times."
"But Father!" Cila said, undeterred by the firm rejection despite his initial hesitance. "The Sultansworn are highly-trained and well-equipped-"
"And their numbers so few that directly following the Calamity, only Papashan came from amongst them to accompany Her Grace. One man - one man - was all they could spare to aid and assist her personally, in so dire a time of need," Uncle Tango interrupted Cila again. "The defense of the royal palace falls to them, and 'tis clear to all that their presence is scarce enough as it is."
"You too were at her side, Father," Cila said quietly, and yet, I couldn't detect the slightest hint of reproach in his demeanor, though Uncle Tango's jaw tightened at the reminder that he hadn't been with his family during the Calamity. He continued in a louder voice, "The sultana had no shortage of defenders at her disposal then, with your Brazier guards, Lord Thancred, and Pipin with her. She remained safe and sound through it all, despite the absence of the Sultansworn. Surely now-"
"Enough." The sheer authority Uncle Tango put into that single word could have frozen a rampaging dragon in its tracks, and Cila's argument, no matter how passionate, was no exception. "We shall recall the First Cohort from their guard posts within Ul'dah tomorrow and ready them for deployment in two days. Any critical posts are to be filled by the Second Cohort. You have full authority to act only on these orders. Have I made myself clear, Cila?"
Cila clearly wanted to argue further, but the hard stare which Uncle Tango was now pinning him with, brooked no defiance. He lowered his own gaze down at the table in front of him for a moment, then clenched his teeth with a barely-audible click as he looked back up at Uncle Tango, and nodded sharply, his eyes and mouth pinched with the effort to remain silent. I glanced at Aunt Ailala for her reaction, only to be struck by the disdain that similarly narrowed her eyes as she stared at her own half-finished meal. Considering how she had been openly savouring her aldgoat steak and mashed popotoes with her typical restrained relish before Cila's arrival, I could only wonder what had been said to put such an expression on her face.
"Well, then," Uncle Tango said, after it was clear that Cila had nothing more to say, "you are certainly more than welcome to join us for dinner, Cila." He paused as Cila raised a hand, shaking his head.
"Thank you, Father," he said, though he couldn't quite keep the resentment out of his words, "but I desire a bath far more than a meal, for now. I shall dine afterwards. By your leave, I shall spend the night here, and fulfill your orders on the morrow."
"You are dismissed, then," said Uncle Tango, with a decisive nod and wave. "Rest well, my son, and I shall anticipate good tidings in your next report."
Cila returned the nod, stepping down from his chair. "Good night, Mother, Father," he said, and then turned to me, with the first genuine smile he had managed throughout the entire conversation, weak though it was, "Siesta, may we meet again in better health."
"I- yes, good night, Cila," I said, caught off-guard at being suddenly addressed. With that, Cila's smile briefly widened, before he turned and left the room. The thud of the doors closing behind him lapsed into a silence that lasted a moment, before it was broken by Aunt Ailala primly picking up her knife and fork to resume her meal, while Uncle Tango began reading through Cila's report.
"Mine apologies, that you had to witness such behaviour as Cila displayed, Siesta," said Aunt Ailala, without looking up from her food. "I certainly raised him better than that." I shook my head, though she wasn't exactly watching me.
"It's all right, Aunt Ailala. He's just... worried, isn't he?" I said, starting back on my own food. In spite of the Calamity, Siesta's godparents' meals were as finely-prepared as she remembered, and the only acknowledgement that it had even taken place was that tonight's dinner consisted of four courses, instead of the typical seven. The current main course of steak and popotoes had followed an appetiser of meat miq'abobs, dripping with gravy, and a serving of fish so delicately pan-fried that it had all but melted in my mouth. If there was one thing that Siesta and I had had in common, it was the ability to recognise well-prepared food.
"Worried or not, it does not excuse such uncouth shouting," she replied, turning her gaze back to me, whereupon she smiled gently, "but such understanding speaks well of you. Let us talk of more pleasant matters now, rather than of politics yet again." The side-eye she gave Uncle Tango was impressive, and better yet was his ability to ignore it in favour of the report, for a while, at least. He put it down with a sigh that was part exasperation, part fondness.
"Very well, very well," he said wryly. "We do have much to discuss, outside of the Syndicate," though he couldn't hold back his sneer at the topic of his colleagues and rivals. "For one... well, Siesta, there is the matter of your education."
"Education?" I echoed, blinking at him. Siesta certainly hadn't received an education that was anything close to formal or structured, nothing like my own had been. At the age when I'd been studying the basics of maths, science, the social studies, and languages, she had been busy learning archery, knife-combat, magic, hunting and trapping, weaving, leatherworking, and cooking. As the child of common-born, nomadic adventurers, scholarly pursuits would have held little value for her.
"Indeed; as your guardian, 'twould be utterly remiss of me, if I neglected your learning. Bango and Cila were both taught by only the finest of tutors," Uncle Tango said, his fond expression dimming at the mention of his missing son. "I would do no less for you, if you so desire, or if you wish to take up an apprenticeship, all the gil and recommendations you require are at your disposal. 'Tis but a matter of what you wish to be when you come of age. I have no doubt that you will excel at whatever you turn your hand to; your mother fair sang your praises, every time we spoke of you!"
What I wanted to be? No, he was asking what Siesta wanted to be when she grew up, and though our souls seemed to have been joined into one, and I was in control of her body now, it wasn't my right to decide her life for her. I could only hold out hope that there would be a way to reverse whatever process had led to my current state, and separate us without either being harmed or killed, to return control of our own bodies to us. And yet... my only source of information, my only clear hope that such a thing was even possible, wanted me to wait years before She would be capable of doing anything. I hadn't considered exactly what I would be doing in those years, but I didn't have that kind of time, Siesta didn't have that kind of time.
Some of my uncertainty must have shown on my face, for Aunt Ailala spoke up, "You need hardly decide now, of course, Siesta. Whatever you choose, the restoration of Ul'dah must come first." Her smile grew wistful. "Should you wish to join Gold Sands, we would gladly welcome you, though I am aware that 'tis not the path your parents likely wanted for you."
It wasn't exactly what Siesta had wanted, either. She'd idolised her parents, dreamt of following in their footsteps as not just mere adventurers, but as self-appointed arbiters of justice - not that those had been the words she'd chosen to describe them, though. But what kind of education did an adventurer really need - that she didn't already have, anyway? I suppressed a shiver at the memories of the battles she'd been in, however few. True, she had never been in melee combat, but it was chilling to look at my hands now and know that they could just as easily fire an arrow to kill a man as they could spin a smooth spool of yarn. I didn't have to go back down that path for now, at least; I could simply take up an artisan trade instead.
"I'm not really sure what I want to do, but I'll think about it," I said, avoiding the question for now. My godparents accepted the answer easily enough, and dinner continued smoothly from there. The question remained on my mind, though, and as we finished the main course and the dessert of crowned apple pie was served and eaten, I pondered the options before me.
No, it wasn't my right to decide Siesta's life for her, but whether I liked it or not, I was trapped here for now, and whatever I chose to do would affect Siesta's future from here on, if and when she regained control of her life and body. And in that case, I mused, staring out the window at the waxing moon, when I was back in her room, perhaps it's my responsibility to ensure she has a good future to return to.
And no, I didn't like that idea, not at all, but it wouldn't let me go. The sudden weight of the realisation that I was now responsible for an entire life not my own was another burden I didn't need. Will I or nill I. It's my choice, but not my choice anyway, and I had to suppress the bitter giggle that bubbled from my chest.
Fucking hell.
Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 3rd Umbral Moon, 15th Sun
It didn't take Aunt Ailala much longer to notice that something was off about me.
"... 'tis naught of significance, save that Siesta concerns me, lately." Her voice was muffled, but still audible through the door of her private study. Now that I could mostly walk unassisted and without pain, a month into my stay here, I'd been granted the run of the mansion and the grounds, except for the family's bedrooms and studies, which I was more than happy to avoid. Instead, I'd decided to take a break from weaving, and spent the evening exploring Uncle Tango's extensive gardens, before coming in for dinner with Aunt Ailala. After another short stroll around the gardens, taking in the cool night breezes of Thanalan, the idea of looking around the library, to brush up on my reading comprehension of the Eorzean script, had occurred to me.
The library was located at the back of the mansion, with the first-floor entrance at the end of the long hallway that ran down the left side of the mansion, and Aunt Ailala's study was located along this hallway, which I'd been walking down when I heard her. The mention of my name caught my interest, and after a moment's hesitation, I pressed myself against the wall that the door was set in. One of the mansion's many foundation pillars, thick enough to completely cover me if I stood behind it, protruded from the wall, next to the door, and it was this that I hid behind to eavesdrop.
"How so, milady?" I recognised the other voice as that of Ticoco Tico, Aunt Ailala's longtime personal maid, and head of staff in the household. "Mina said that she was recovering well."
"Yes, yes, but 'tis not exactly her physical health that troubles me so. While 'tis heartening to know she is healing well... have you not noticed how unlike herself she seems now?" Aunt Ailala said, clearly agitated.
"As I recall, Miss Siesta has ever been a quiet child," Ticoco said. I hadn't seen much of her in the weeks I'd been here; mostly at mealtimes, but I had memories of childhood days spent under her care and watchful eye.
"Siesta was quiet, yes, but not stoic as she is now! Time was, you could all but read her every thought through her eyes. Now, 'tis as if she is afraid, but of what, I cannot understand, and she will not confide in any of us," Aunt Ailala said. I could hear her pacing up and down the length of the room, her path parallel to the door.
"She witnessed the Calamity, did she not, milady? And she has lost her parents as well. The wounds of their loss are still fresh in us all, and none deeper than hers. Grief changes a person, and the Calamity even more so," Ticoco replied, a calm, though noticeably grieved, contrast to Aunt Ailala's upset. "The whole of Ul'dah has been shaken to its core by what transpired at the Carteneau Flats; why should the young miss be any exception?"
Aunt Ailala sighed. "You speak the truth, Ticoco, and yet I cannot help but worry for her," she said, her footsteps coming to a stop near my side of the door. "I suppose there is naught for it but to wait, and hope she will find solace of her own soon, or speak to us." I didn't need to stick around after that, and promptly resumed my trek towards the library, ensuring that my footsteps upon the cool marble floors were as silent as possible, aided by Siesta's past training and experience in sneaking around. As I left, Ticoco's affirmations that it was only natural to be worried, faded away.
Uncle Tango's library was as large and grand as anything else he owned, occupying a full two floors, with entrances on both levels. In addition to shelves that reached from the floor of the first level to the ceiling of the second, the library included a variety of sculptures and displays scattered about, ranging from the aesthetic - tapestries, portraits, paintings, and other works of art - to the functional - maps of Eorzea and the realms beyond, and star globes.
Naturally, such a collection was ridiculously valuable, and to enter the library, I had to pass through a complex arcanima ward, which was unmanned for the moment; the staff of the mansion had been drafted for the relief efforts, leaving behind a skeleton crew to guard the mansion's entrances and exits, as I'd been told. At present, the ward merely identified visitors via their aetheric signature - my own had been keyed into all the mansion's magical defenses, by one of Uncle Tango's security arcanists, a few days after my stay here had been confirmed as being indefinite - but in an emergency, the ward could be activated to seal off the entire room, as with all other wards in the mansion.
Had I been at home in my own body, the prospect of being able to explore such a massive private collection of books, at my leisure, would've had me utterly enthralled, but as I wandered among the shelves, the conversation I had overheard remained at the front of my thoughts. If Aunt Ailala was waiting for me to open up to her, or anyone else, she would be waiting a very long time indeed, because I definitely wasn't going to tell her or anyone else anything. It was far better for people who had known Siesta to think that I'd been changed by the Calamity, than for them to believe that I was outright insane. And who would blame them? I wondered, pausing in front of an old tapestry depicting a now-inaccurate map of Vylbrand, from some years past. Even with having spoken to Hydaelyn Herself, I can't be entirely certain I'm not insane.
I exhaled slowly, once again pushing those thoughts away. Dwelling on unanswerable questions wasn't going to do me any good. What was of a more immediate concern was the fact that Aunt Ailala had noticed something off about me, and she likely wasn't the only person who would. It would probably take Uncle Tango and Cila much longer to notice, preoccupied as they were with Ul'dah's reconstruction, while I saw and spoke to Aunt Ailala every evening at dinner now. But that didn't change the inevitable. The question remained: What would they do about their observations, and what would I do to avoid the negative repercussions of this?
All right, think about this rationally, I ordered myself. In the grand scheme of things, one girl acting differently from what she'd been like before the Calamity, was hardly out of the ordinary. Aunt Ailala herself had only expressed concern for me, not suspicion that I was an entirely different person, since that was a fairly far-out conclusion to reach. It would be simple enough to let them come to their own, natural conclusions: that grief and trauma had caused the changes in me. After all, it was hardly far from the truth.
The part of me that loved and trusted these people wanted to tell them everything, to draw comfort and solace from them, while the part that was fighting to maintain her sanity in the face of an overwhelming tide of homesickness, knew just what a bad idea that would be. No, I could get through this on my own. All I had to do was survive for now, fly under the radar and avoid suspicion until such time as Hydaelyn could or would tell me just what was going on.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought that this was going to take the next five years, at the very least, and pressed my forehead against the smooth wooden paneling that made up the walls of the library, breathing slowly to ease the knot of panic that formed in my gut. It physically hurt, sometimes, the ache of loss that plagued me day and night. I missed Mama, Papa, travelling across the realm, hunting, cooking, and I missed home, the simple leisure of a lazy day spent lying in bed, surfing the Internet, chatting with friends, or listening to music. Sometimes, I wondered just how much more of this I could take. But then again, I thought, opening my eyes and turning back to look at my surroundings, there's really only one way to find out, isn't there?
Sixth Astral Era - 1572, 4th Astral Moon, 2nd Sun
Work really did help to ease the pain, and so did simply spending time around other people, a fact I didn't truly realise or appreciate until I'd managed to finish healing the last of my injuries and regain complete mobility. Unfortunately, with my nocturnal sleeping habits, I wouldn't have many people to socialise with, for the majority of my waking hours, unless I chose to visit the Gold Brazier guards in charge of the night watch, or the household's maids who were on standby during the night, to tend to any needs of the family that might have arisen. Yet, the idea of distracting people from their jobs, for the sake of mere socialising, felt too frivolous for me, and I chose to avoid doing so.
But now, with my recovery complete, more strenuous work was available to me, including the chance to assist the staff in the single busiest area of the mansion. And thus, on the day that Bango Zango finally returned to his family, almost two months after the Calamity, I was to be found in the kitchens of the mansion, stirring a massive pot of stew, under the watchful eye of Uncle Tango's head chef.
Silver Lining was of an average height and build for a Hellsguard Roegadyn, which was to say that he was twice my height, about four times as wide as me, and ran the risk of hitting me in the head with boiling-hot cooking utensils if neither of us were cautious enough about working in close proximity. Nonetheless, he accepted my presence in his kitchen without much fuss, and wasted no time in putting Siesta's past culinary experience to good use.
Directly after my daily shower, after waking up that evening, I headed straight for the kitchens, as was quickly becoming routine, and was immediately tasked with the supervision of a pot of slow-cooking dodo stew, that would be only one of hundreds going out the next morning, to feed the refugees of the Calamity in the city. Meanwhile, on the stove directly adjacent to mine, Chef Silver, as his other assistants in the kitchen playfully addressed him, was grilling the tender steaks that were destined for the dinner table I would share with Aunt Ailala, later that night.
I found myself humming an idle tune under my breath, as I gave the simmering stew one last stir, before dipping a spoon into it for a sample. The taste of buttery, white poultry meat melted across my tongue, and I took an appreciative breath to savour the flavour, my eyes sliding shut as I concentrated. Chef Silver chuckled.
"Don't eat it all, Miss Siesta; there's much better fare for you elsewhere," he said teasingly, sliding the steaks from his frying pan, onto the dinner plates waiting for them. With the ease of long practice, he set about garnishing them, adding the various sauces and spices often enjoyed by the wealthy nobles of Ul'dah.
"Hardly, Chef Silver," I said, my tone equally mirthful, "I wouldn't miss your cooking for the world." Despite the joking tone of our banter, I truly did mean what I said; in the foreign world I'd been unexpectedly dropped into, the various dishes that Chef Silver prepared every day, for my nourishment, were an oasis of familiarity that served to alleviate my homesickness. A pie, steak, or stew, cooked in Eorzea, tasted almost the same as one cooked on Earth, and every meal I took here, was a soothing reminder of my home. Down here, in the large, airy kitchen cooled by the breezes allowed to blow through it for that purpose, I could smell and taste the very essence of home, surrounded by other kitchen staff who willingly made easy conversation, as they slaved over their craft. For that reason alone, simply being able to work here was an immense comfort, no matter how much Aunt Ailala fretted about me straining myself.
But speaking of cooking... "I believe this needs some salt," I said, staring down at the stew, which was a pale orange-yellow for the moment, though it would thicken and darken as it cooked.
"Do you, now?" said Chef Silver, looking up from his dishes. I paused as he leaned over, dipping his own spoon into the stew to try it for himself. He gave a hum of consideration, gazing at the wall as he gauged the flavour, and then turned a wry, yet indulgent smile on me. "A few more bells of stewing, and the flavour of the dodo meat will be all the richer for it, but you're quite right, young miss. This stew could use some more salt," he said, but then he shrugged, turning away. "But, that would only serve to enhance the taste, and it's a good, hearty, nourishing stew as it is. Leave it be."
I hesitated, twisting around to stare at the massive sack of salt that was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, next to the door that led to the pantry, well-stocked even in these times. If I had simply been myself, I would've let it go, folded in the face of a higher authority on such matters. Despite having lived here for almost two months already, despite all the welcome, care, and concern that everyone in the household had shown me, I was still uncertain of my place in the mansion. It was only a little salt, after all, but in that same vein... it's only a little salt. I bit lightly on my lower lip, and turned back to face Chef Silver, who had moved on to chopping some garlic.
"Surely, we can spare just a bit of salt for this?" I asked, swallowing my trepidation as he paused in his smooth motions, setting down his knife to pin me with his gaze. I was a newcomer in this kitchen, after all, neither a member of the kitchen staff, nor did I actually possess any actual culinary expertise, apart from whatever Siesta had learnt from Mama and Papa. Yet, here I was, openly questioning the head chef's instructions, and no matter if I was now Uncle Tango's ward, I still had to defer to him, here in the kitchen.
"This stew goes to feed the refugees in the city, Miss Siesta. You know that, don't you?" Chef Silver finally asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," I said, fighting the urge to chew on my lip again, and thankful that my voice had managed to steady itself enough for one word. He didn't really seem angry, but his mere stature made him intimidating.
"Our supplies are limited, miss, and quite frankly, these smallfolk ought to be grateful for what we're giving them already. We feed them enough as it is; there's hardly any need for us to care about their tastes," he said, folding his arms across his chest. I suppressed a wince at his words; he was only speaking common sense, after all, as callous as it seemed. In a disaster relief operation, such as ours, was it truly necessary to ensure that the peoples' meals tasted good, instead of merely being nutritious?
Well... no, of course it wasn't. Any sane, rational person would have said as much. Still, I couldn't help but recall just how much of a simple comfort that tasty, well-prepared food was to me, in an otherwise wholly unfamiliar situation. If I could have such fine cuisine, and the many luxuries I enjoyed beyond that, couldn't we spare some salt to provide the refugees of the Calamity with a good meal? It was with the answer to that question in mind, that I found my footing, and firmly met Chef Silver's gaze with my own resolve.
"In times like these, Chef Silver, can't we afford to give the people their small comforts? They've lost so much, and they stand to lose even more. I know it doesn't sound like much, but sometimes, a good meal is all that can give someone the strength to... to just face the day," I said, trying to ignore the growing doubt that gnawed at me, the further into my argument I got. That was what I'd always hated about making arguments based on sentiment: they were nowhere near as convincing as cold, hard, simple facts. And yet, I knew I couldn't and wouldn't live without being affected by my emotions and conscience, so here I was, trying to advocate the feel-good virtues of altruism, in a city of cutthroat merchants.
No. It's stupid, but you knew it was, before you even opened your mouth. You're committing to this now, I commanded myself. It would've been nice to be able to take a reaffirming breath, but if I was going to make this work, I had to look confident, which meant no sighs of relief. I settled for a slow, silent exhale through my nose, watching Chef Silver as his eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Speaking from experience?" he simply said, with a touch of what sounded like realisation. But, now that he mentioned it...
"Yes," I said again, averting my gaze from his, "of course." It was a little dirty, playing on someone's sympathies to get my way, but if it did the trick... What does it even really cost us, just to provide some people with a bit of cheer? It stung, too, to admit just how dependent I was, emotionally as well as physically, on Uncle Tango and Aunt Ailala's generosity in feeding, clothing, and sheltering me, but it was the truth; I would simply have to face it, and all the better if it was for a decent cause.
I was caught off-guard when Chef Silver chuckled suddenly, his stern countenance melting away, back into the friendly supervisor he had been. "You've a kind heart, Miss Siesta, and good intentions, too. Forgive me," he said, catching my confused stare, "but I wanted to see what you would do, when opposed on such a matter."
Just a test, then? On something so banal? "So, do I pass?" I asked, not quite able to keep the flat sarcasm out of my voice. It was either that, or expressing my irritation with such a meaningless charade. I struggled to pull my mouth into a mirthful smile, but it didn't feel like I'd succeeded. Thankfully, Chef Silver didn't seem to notice, turning to look around his kitchen fondly.
"Indeed, miss," he said, surveying his domain, "you don't back down on matters important to you, do you? You came in here, and worked so quietly these past few days, I wondered if you had any spine of your own at all. But you've certainly proven you do. Generosity such as yours is a rare commodity in these troubled times."
I could only find it annoyingly presumptuous of him, to assume he knew me, simply from a few days of working together and some conversation. But it wouldn't do to antagonise him over something so minor, so I swallowed my irritation, and returned my attention to the cooking pot. "What about the salt, then?" I said, giving the stew another stir, for lack of something to occupy my hands. In the edge of my vision, I watched Chef Silver shrug.
"We can spare some for the stew. It is no less than the duty of every culinarian to create dishes that are a pleasure to consume, as well as nutritious, for that is the essence of our art," he said, and while his words could've sounded like they'd been regurgitated from a slogan, he truly seemed to believe in what he was saying. Makes sense, I supposed, that the head chef of a noble family would be passionate about his craft.
"Well, all right, then," I said, stepping down from the stool I'd been standing on to reach the cooking pot, but my next movements were interrupted by the breathless entrance of a maid at the door.
"Miss Siesta!" she cried, her face flushed, but joyful. "You must come quickly - Master Bango has returned!" And the breath was stolen from my lungs.
Bango was alive? After all this time, he had survived to return to his family? When my own is dead? Trapped beneath the surge of disbelief, wonder, bitterness, hope, anger, and guilt that this simple message had triggered in me, I remained where I was, staring blankly at the maid. I might have stayed that way forever, had it not been for Chef Silver's heavy, warm hand coming to rest gently on my shoulder. It snapped me out of my trance, and I blinked, turning to him.
"Go on," he said, with an encouraging smile and pat on my shoulder, "go see the young master, miss. I'll take care of the stew."
Go on. Yes, I had to go, I should've been happy about this, not angry or bitter that Uncle Tango's family was safe and sound, while my own was lost to me. With a shaky breath, I packed those feelings away, to be dealt with later, and nodded wordlessly. As I followed the maid out of the kitchen, into the front foyer of the mansion, I focussed on the joy and relief I felt, trying to push it to the front of my thoughts. Negative emotions had no place in such a reunion.
It was a little surprising, though it really shouldn't have been, to enter the foyer to the sound of quiet sobs. I followed the sounds to the sight of Aunt Ailala, clutching desperately to the dusty and bedraggled, but very much alive and whole, form of her firstborn child, and muffling her crying into his shirt, while he patted her back soothingly. As I approached them, Bango Zango looked up at me, and smiled with the same affection that Cila always had for me, mixed with no small amount of relief.
"Siesta," he said, and that was all it took for me to drop to my knees and pull them both into an embrace of my own. Yes, Mama and Papa were dead, and nothing would ever bring them back, but for now, someone we had all believed to be gone, had returned to us. No, it didn't make everything better, nor did it solve any of our problems save for one, but for now, it was enough to turn my artificial attempts at joy into something real, and that was worth taking part in, no matter what.
Thank you for reading this far. If you enjoyed it, I do not request that you review, merely that you tell someone else about this story and how you enjoyed it.