55
Non est vivere sed valere vita est
L.N. 3-4
I
On December 24 of the third year of the L.N. (former M.E. 758) Silia was visited by a formal delegation of seven children under the age of ten while grabbing a bite to eat on the back of Takka's diner. Nathan, Lisa, Brendan, Ewan, Kaia and Flora had taken with them even Michael, not even two years old, who could barely walk in a straight line. Talcott was with the delegation, but he stood a little aside, with his arms folded on his chest, with the serious and indulgent attitude of an older brother. He raised an eyebrow in her direction with an experienced look, as if to silently tell her what can one do 'bout it, they're children, and as if he hadn't turned ten years old just a few months earlier.
"Boss," said Nathan, who had evidently been chosen, or more likely had chosen himself, as the delegation's spokesman. He was eight years old and had arrived in Hammerhead with the first group of survivors from Kirkdale, hand-in-hand with Martha with his snotty nose. "We've a request to issue if you agree to receive us."
Clenching her jaw so as not to laugh, Silia pushed the plate away and crossed her arms severely. "Be my guest," she said, nodding to them. "I agree to receive you."
"Thank you." Nat took a deep breath and began to recite the speech he had evidently learned by heart. "Since there're no more feast days, like the Emperor's birthday, or the spring festival, or the winter solstice... we consulted, and we believe it's not fair that we've no vacation days."
"Holidays, you mean?" Silia repeated, blinking. "And what do you know about holidays?"
"Talcott and Lisa," intervened Flora, five years old, pointing at the two concerned people, "say when there was school, there were also 'olidays."
"When Talcott and Lisa were at school," Silia reminded them, "the world was a very different place. For some, at least. You know that, don't you?"
They all nodded. Michael too, in solidarity, because Silia doubted that at two he understood shit.
"Up to three years ago," she summarized again, "the privileged ones lived in big cities such as Insomnia or Gralea. Life was very different than in the outlands. Day and night marked the rhythms of study and work. Most people had much less to do than today, because there were thousands of machines that facilitated work that now, since electricity is used almost entirely to guarantee lighting, we have abandoned. You understand?"
Again, everyone nodded.
"Well, it's true, there were days of vacation," she had to admit. "In which, as a rule, adults didn't go to work and children stayed home from school. But already at the time it didn't apply to everyone. Think about what would happen if no one remained on guard at the turrets tomorrow."
"Urgh," said Brendan. "A Bomb could break through the walls!"
"Exactly," she approved. "Or, think if tomorrow Takka and Ignis said they want to go on vacation, and they didn't care about the kitchen. In Insomnia there were those who also worked on those days. In hospitals, for example, or at the Citadel to protect the King. People can't all go on vacation at the same time, don't you think?"
The children looked at each other. "No, that's true," Nat said again. "We can't all go on vacation. But we can have a party. At least one, for now. And then we'll think 'bout the others. The grown-ups will agree upon who will work. Maybe some of 'em can work on this party and the rest of 'em the next one," he declared wisely. "When you got married, Boss, last year, we had a party and there were shifts for the radio and the turrets and nothin' happen'd, right?"
Crash and burn. By the time he'd be fifteen or sixteen, Nat would have been a tough row to hoe. He was as smart as hell. "And what kind of feast day are you proposing? Let's hear it."
"The New Year," replied Lisa, the oldest of the girls with her short eight years. She came from a country west of Niflheim whose name Silia could never remember and her inflection testified to it as soon as she opened her mouth, but since she had broken Nathan's nose everyone had stopped pointing it out. Silia had punished her reluctantly. She was damn close to someone Silia knew all too well. "Long Night 4. We can do it every year, the first day. A party all together. We could have lunch outdoors."
"What are you sayin', you moron, it's cold," Nathan contradicted her. "Don't listen to her, Boss. We should have lunch indoors. We can't stand freezin' weather like her."
"You're a bunch of spoiled dudes."
"And besides," Nathan continued, as if Lisa hadn't spoken, "besides lunch we do somethin' special."
"Like what?" Silia asked.
"We don't know yet," he admitted. "We can dress up. Or give gifts. Or fight. Or make offers to the Astrals so they'll make the next year the last of the Long Night. We've not made up our mind yet."
Silia thought that the Astrals wiped their ass with mortal offerings and that the closest thing to an Astral who sometimes came to get his was Umbra the dog, who occasionally showed up and received his proper portion of Arba's legs, but she was careful not to say it. She stared at the children, who stared at her in turn, hopeful. She looked at Talcott, who - was it just her impression? - had the face of someone who hoped for it too.
"So, Boss?" Nat urged her.
"Gotta think 'bout it," she replied.
"But don't think 'bout it too much," Brendan ventured to say. "'cause there are only seven days left and we must make the box of ideas!"
"The what?"
"The box of ideas. Everyone'll put in a piece of paper with what they want to do for the party," Lisa explained. "And then we put 'em all together and choose the best ideas."
"I'll let you know," Silia said, trying again not to laugh. "Let me finish eating now. Chop chop!"
"Yes, Boss!" they all exclaimed, before running away.
~~~XV~~~
That night, when she told him, Gladio burst out laughing like a moron.
"What's wrong with you?"
"They've really grown up!" he continued to laugh, his hand on his forehead. "A delegation, no less!"
"And you should see how serious they are."
"What are you going to do?"
"Say yes," she answered simply, "after leaving them on pins and needles for a while. They were more reasonable and constructive than the EHSO, and even more democratic. If they want some days of leisure, like the national holidays that you bourgeois citizens observed, I think there's nothing wrong with that. This party for the New Year, for example. Not a bad idea. At least people won't spend a mournful day thinking that yet another year has gone by without the Prince showing up."
Laughter died on Gladio's lips, and Silia felt disgustingly guilty. They no longer mentioned the Prince often, not among the two of them at least, but she was pretty sure that for Gladio, Ignis and Prompto he was a presence - or rather, an absence - constantly perceptible. She joined him on the bed and sat next to him. He had been back from Hulldagh Pyke for a week and his leg and arm would be splinted for long time. In theory, with those fractured ribs, he should have remained motionless in bed, but she'd found him occasionally staggering around the camp with a crutch. Seeing him struggling disheartened her, as if he had suffered permanent trauma, and pissed her off, because he had looked for it.
"Let's celebrate the fact that we survived another year," she said, reaching out to put his hair back behind his ears. He also had an unkempt beard. Trimming it with one hand had to be problematic. She would take care of it the next morning. "You've to cut your hair, Gladio. You can't risk it obstructing your view while you fight. I've told you a million times."
"I like it long," he reminded her sourly. "It's a good idea, however. I mean, the party for the first of the year, not cutting my hair. They'll all be happy with it. What do you want to organize?"
Silia untied her braid. Her own hair had become too long as far as she was concerned. "Nothing at all," she replied, using her rubber band to tie at least the locks that framed his face. "The children already have a lot of ideas and want to collect others from everyone. Let's let them decide. Reasonably. But I've no intention of dressing up, just so you know."
"Dressing up?"
"One of the proposals. A fancy dress party."
"Oh, I'd like to see you you dressed up."
"You've already seen me at our wedding. Dressed up as a woman."
Gladio laughed again, sinking his unharmed hand into her hair. "You were so pretty. You've to wear it again."
"On my next wedding."
"With whom?"
"With someone less idiotic than you are. I was thinking about Ignis, for example."
II
In March of the fourth year of the Long Night, Ignis was named Sworn Sword. Unofficially, he was already participating in the hunts, expeditions and all other activities of Hammerhead that required the contribution of good men, but Silia had to fight long and hard to obtain from EHSO the formal appointment that would allow him to join the official missions. There were those who thought it unwise to entrust the lives of others to a man who, although of unquestionable fighting skills, could not count on his eyesight; not even Cor, head of the Sworn Swords, managed to make it for a long time. Only when Ignis entered and left alive from Pitioss, an experience that probably very few in the world could boast, his value despite the blindness was so evident to everyone that he was granted the appointment. After all, Silia had said, your bullshit had at least one positive aspect, Gladio.
His misadventure in Pitioss had not had too many repercussions, after all, except for his broken bones, but Silia and Cor had alerted too many camps for it to be buried as if nothing had happened. Gladio never knew what Silia said privately to Cor to justify him, but the Marshal treated him hard for months - he still was treating him hard. Publicly, Silia took full responsibility for what happened. The name of Pitioss was already on everyone's lips the day after their return and it was not possible to prevent it being known that it was there where they had found him; Silia declared that she had sent him to Pitioss to retrieve materials, although Cor, Adrian, Xandra, August, Kamal and several others knew very well that this was not the case. Gladio would have liked to take on his faults, but Silia had reminded him that if they had thrown him out of the Sworn Swords it would have been a mess for everyone; moreover, she would have looked even weaker if the EHSO had known that in Hammerhead even her husband didn't follow the protocols. At last Gladio had given up. At any rate, he suspected, Cor would have covered her ass while she covered his.
Sworn Sword was an archaic and high-sounding term that perhaps would recall an investiture ceremony. It was nothing like that. The appointment consisted of signing a document stating their willingness to put the good of the survivors above their own and to take charge, in full awareness of their limits, of all the activities that were needed to ensure the smooth functioning of surviving communities. Once this formality had been completed, the Sworn Sword could accept the official missions of Meldacio, EHSO and anyone who needed something and wanted to make sure that something was done by the best ones.
Gladio and Prompto had accompanied Ignis to sign. Silia wanted to go as well, having spent a lot on his training, but, as she reproached Gladio, she had a shitload to do also to repay all the expenses that his adventure had entailed. For the first time since the Long Night had started, therefore, the three men were alone in a car together. The emptiness in the back seat was almost physical, but they made an effort to ignore it and to enjoy those few days of relative lightheartedness. They chatted almost continuously, while Gladio and Prompto took turns driving, remembering what had happened here and there as they proceeded towards Lestallum and speculating on what they would do in the town.
"I've to go to the Exineris and find Holly," said Prompto. "She has stuff for Cindy that I must bring to Hammerhead. And I've to give her the report that Cindy and I have prepared on the latest discoveries about magitek technology."
"How's it going, by the way?" Ignis asked.
Prompto sighed. "Not very well. We thought it would take less to get something useful. Most of the data Aranea gave us in Zegnautus Keep are incomprehensible to us. On the other hand, the Imperials had been working on it since the beginning of the century and had thousands of scientists and dozens of laboratories full-time working. In comparison, Cindy and I are like two children trying to get electricity from a potato."
"Don't put yourselves down," said Ignis. "Sania Yeagre, who is studying plasmodium in the Lestallum labs, is also at a standstill. This sort of things takes decades, Prompto."
"The Meteor of the Six seems inexhaustible, but oil won't last forever," Gladio reflected aloud. He patted the wheel with both his hands. "Sooner or later we'll have to find an alternative. Electric cars, perhaps, it's just that we can't afford this waste of electricity. In a few years, traveling will become even more complicated. Too bad there're so few Chocobos left."
Nobody answered him. Gladio regretted having ruined the festive mood. "Look," he said, "I'm dying to eat Tostwell's skewers. And his offal stew. As soon as Ignis signs, we go and have dinner there. And then we go to Nigul to drink."
Ignis sighed. "Gladio, do you really want to be seen hanging around drunk in the same city where the Marshal is? After what happened in December?"
"I won't get drunk," he said, but actually they all drank so little these days that he wasn't so sure. For the New Year's Day, for example, he had had a drop too much, moreover he was still on his drugs, and this time Silia hadn't been as drunk as she was for their wedding, so she had put his head under the icy water to sober him up. "However, we may not drink as well. But at least there's life in Nigul. New faces. Music."
"Yeah, and fights and mess and flying bottles and drunken hunters who sing obscene songs about Silia and Aranea."
Gladio turned abruptly in his direction. "And what do you know 'bout it? Never heard of such a thing."
"'cause even a completely drunk hunter wouldn't sing songs about Silia's ass with you around, Gladio, and it's really not difficult to see you when you're around."
"Sons of bitches. If I get one, I'll take him apart. No, I'll do better than that. I tell Silia so she takes them apart." He realized that Ignis hadn't blinked. "What about you? Won't you say anything?"
"Why should I?" He asked him placidly. "One of the two direct interested parties boasts of these things, so I don't see why it should be a problem for me."
After returning with Gladio from Niflheim with the survivors, Aranea Highwind, unlike Loqi Tummelt who had referred himself to the Marshal and remained in Orior, had refused to settle in a camp, however leaving her men free to stop where they liked most. Biggs and Wedge had declined the offer and followed her faithfully in her wanderings, and they were often seen in Lestallum, Orior and the Meldacio HQ, but also – to his wife's supreme joy – in Hammerhead. At the end of 757 Aranea had accepted to become a Sworn Sword, reiterating that, as far as she was concerned, it was already a major limitation to her personal freedom. She didn't want to submit to the authority of anyone, hunter or Crownsguard, to work at the rhythms imposed by someone else, to have to account for her movements. She would lend a hand but she owed nothing to anyone, she had pointed out to the Marshal, and nobody could force her.
Aranea was the proverbial elephant in the room that everyone saw but pretended to ignore. In public, except for the ex-mercenary's usual jokes, you never saw them in confidence, but all Hammerhead knew for who she came and especially where she stopped to sleep. Ignis refused to answer any questions from Gladio and Prompto about it. Stop behaving like high school gossipers, he had replied more bitterly than necessary the first time they had asked him what he was doing with Aranea. They had since stopped asking him questions, even though they couldn't prevent themselves from teasing him. Silia, for her part, had ended up accepting Aranea's presence, as long as she respected the assumption my camp, my rules, even if she blatantly raised her eyes to heaven as soon as she heard Aranea's voice or someone warned her that she was at the gate. Gladio suspected that, after all, Silia didn't dislike Aranea so much, and couldn't understand this ostentatious stance until Iris, much more sensitive than him about everything that had to do with the emotional sphere, had noted that Silia was overprotective of Ignis, which was why she couldn't look favorably on whatever was happening.
"Well, I really can understand 'em, after all," Gladio ventured, to deliberately provoke a reaction from Ignis. He winked at Prompto. "Aranea actually does have nice boobs."
"Statuary," Prompto echoed him, grinning.
Ignis didn't pick up on the provocation. He clicked his tongue, crossed his arms behind his head and leaned against the back of the rear seats. "Oh my. The three of us together alone in a car after a long time, and we end up talking about women. That's coarse. And banal."
Gladio and Prompto exchanged another accomplice glance. "Two bombs," insisted Gladio.
"They defeat gravity."
"It's not just the boobs, however. She has two fabulous legs."
"Two fabulous thighs."
"Let me hear one of these song 'bout Aranea, Prom." They were starting to pull the rope a bit, Gladio knew, but it was too funny.
"Hm. There's one where the singer must rhyme." Prompto blushed, obviously embarrassed, but he indulged him and started humming. "Like, the imperial mercenary has two boobs so big that if you have oral sex..."
"I met the Glaive on a winter's night, she was as fast as a Coeurl's bite, she was using both her swords, she got rid of a Ronins' horde." Ignis began to absently sing with his eyes closed, interrupting Prompto. "And then I said, hey my love, I see your swords are so slick. If you like to have some more, take off your pants and have my…"
Gladio stopped the Dodge Ram abruptly, purple. "Ignis, what the fuck!"
"This is one of the catchiest, a ballad, almost, but I've heard some more… spicy," said his friend placidly. The braking hadn't even interrupt him. "Do you want me to sing The Sworn Shield's wife?"
Gladio didn't reply, Ignis didn't sing, and the subject was no longer touched until the end of the journey. Instead of Nigul, they jointly agreed to spend the evening at the Leville restaurant.
III
"Iris, get it out of your head!"
"You're a damn bonehead!"
Iris had always been a quiet child, but in recent years Gladio had noticed that she had become a stubborn and combative teenager. There was in her still something of the natural mildness that she had inherited from Clarus, but this new impatient impetuosity was all his own, Gladio's. And - it made him pretty uncomfortable - he often glimpsed something of Silia in her ways, as if his sister were trying to imitate her. Not always that something he liked the most.
"You can't go," he tried to reason with her. "Behemoths are still too much for you."
"You always underestimate me!"
"I don't underestimate you, dammit! I only care about you!"
"I'm a Sworn Sword, Gladio. And I'm eighteen."
"I remember when you're born. I'm your brother."
"This is precisely the problem! Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in Orior with the Marshal, what the fuck."
Curses were also a whole new affair, and each one that came out of his sister's lips was like a cacophony that made his ears bleed. He pointed a finger at her, a gesture he once reserved only for Noctis. "If Dad had heard you talk like that, he would have skinned you alive."
"Oh, yeah?" she challenged him. "And what would he have done to you, if he had known that in such a situation you allow yourself to be partial to your sister? He never was partial with his children."
"I don't…"
"You don't what? Clive is slower than I am, still making newbie mistakes, and last week you let him escort a copper truck from Lestallum to Longwythe!"
"Prompto with him. Now we're talking about..." There was no way to reason with her, he realized. She was looking at him with her hands on her hips, her childish face mad as hell. "Iris, this is definitely out of the question. Debate closed."
Iris clicked her tongue, rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. This pissed him off to death, because it underlined in a humiliating and painful way that he no longer exercised a minimum of authority towards her, but not as much as the words she said looking at him sideways: "It so happens that it's not up to you to decide. I hadn't come to ask for your permission, Gladio, but to inform you."
"Iris, that's enough," he warned her, trying to calm down.
"It has already been confirmed at EHSO that Claudio and I will go. We're leaving in two hours or so."
Gladio couldn't believe it. "Silia said you can go?!"
Iris frowned and bent her lips in a mocking smile. That too reminded him of Silia. "A little while ago. She patted my back and said to be careful and to have a look out for Claudio."
There were no curses, nor swearing enough virulent for the wave of incredulous anger that risked blowing up his coronaries. Gladio turned his back on Iris and went to look for the new object of that fury. "It doesn't end there," he promised his sister.
"I think it does."
~~~XV~~~
It was eleven in the morning, and Silia was still at the training camp with the children. Some of the parents were also there to watch. Too bad. He stopped near the fence, counted up to twenty, climbed over and approached her, calling out loud. He struggled to keep his tone steady.
"Silia, can we talk alone?"
Silia blocked Nathan's arm and glanced over her shoulder. "No," she replied simply. "Because I'm sure I know what you want to tell me and I'm not going to discuss it while you're upset. We'll talk about it at lunchtime. I'm busy now."
Gladio could not wait. Iris was already getting the car ready. "Silia, I ask you for the second time. Can we talk alone?"
"Gladio, I answer you for the second time," she replied, her voice lower and more rasping. "I've nothing to discuss with you right now. We'll talk about that later."
Gladio got furious. He pushed Nathan aside and grabbed her shoulder to make her turn. That was what he intended to do, at least, but Silia dodged his hand, got around him and locked his arm behind his back.
A chilling silence had fallen in the field. Gladio noticed it because he could hear his own breathing reverberate in his skull. They were walking on thin ice, he realized; she had ignored him in front of everyone, first crack of the ice. He had challenged her in front of everyone, second crack. She had reacted with spite, third crack. He had tried to grab her, fourth crack. She had violently locked his arm in a hold, fifth crack. If now he would oppose her just as violently, the ice would shatter and they would sink.
He swallowed, trying to calm down. "Silia, leave me," he hissed.
"Try that again," she replied, hissing just as much, but she let him go.
"You can't talk to me like that in front of everyone."
"Neither can you. I'm in charge of the camp, in case you've forgotten."
"I told you I want to discuss it in private."
"We just didn't have to discuss it."
"You can't send Iris and Claudio alone against a Behemoth. As long as there's just one of them."
"If that doesn't suit you, go to Lestallum and fill out a fucking complaint form. Anyway, Iris is perfectly capable. And she's an adult now. Get over it."
"You only talk like that because she isn't your sister."
Another crack, perhaps worse than the others. Silia looked at him, incredulous that he had said it. He too couldn't believe he had said it. Silia opened her mouth, then closed it – luckily, because who knows what would come out of it. Again, she opened her mouth and closed it immediately. She pursed his lips, then parted them again. "Gladio, you'd better get the fuck out of my way immediately."
Now Gladio didn't want anything more. He put his hands in his pockets and took a step.
"At least send someone else to take a look at them."
"Gladio, didn't you hear me?"
"If something happens to her, Silia, you'll answer for it."
He walked away before she took his eyes out.
~~~XV~~~
They hadn't fought – mostly because, while waiting for the return of Iris and Claudio, they had barely spoken – but when Iris returned seriously injured, indeed there was a fight that everyone in Hammerhead heard. Shortly after Iris was taken to the infirmary, Gladio violently confronted Silia, accusing her of being reckless, and Silia accused him of wanting to keep Iris under a glass bell. The tones escalated more and more. Gladio replied that if she wanted to play the Boss over other people's skin, she couldn't dare to do it over his sister's; she threatened to kick him out of Hammerhead if he dared to contradict her decisions again and contest her authority.
It came to blows. It was not the first time and it was not the last, but nobody came to divide them that time. Silia blackened his eye. He broke her two fingers while trying to block her. Like all the other times they had gotten to that point, he felt like shit for losing his temper and lost his temper even more at the thought that she had made him lose his temper like that, so he went out unhinging the container door and took refuge in Takka's diner. As always when he argued with Silia, everyone was careful not only to not speak to him, but also to not exchange looks.
When he could visit Iris in the infirmary, she burst into tears as soon as she saw him. She had heard them scream too, like everyone else, and she regretted being the cause of that quarrel.
"Gladdy, I don't want you leaving Hammerhead because of me."
She hadn't called him that for at least two years. He smiled, softened. "It's not your fault and I'm not leaving Hammerhead," he tried to reassure her, sitting next to her. "Everything that has been said and done after never dare to challenge my authority again or you are expelled from this camp falls within the free zone of marital quarrels. It's not always easy when your wife is the boss. It's not always easy to stop a discussion before it goes too far. We've yet to learn. She'll get over it. We will get over it," he corrected himself, because he had certainly not already gotten over it. He was still furious with her.
"You sure?" she asked, sniffing. The bandage on her head made her look like a sick child. Gladio leaned over to gently caress her hand. That too hadn't happened for many years.
"I'm sure," he lied. Actually, he feared that Silia would come looking for him at any moment to tell him that he was no longer persona grata, or worse, that she would have someone else tell him. Oh well. Maybe their marriage would have had more hope of surviving if he didn't have to take orders from her anymore.
It didn't happen. Three days later – Gladio slept in the infirmary with Iris, but had gone to the container to retrieve a clean shirt – Silia carelessly asked him if he intended to return home sooner or later. Closing the drawer without taking his shirt, looking away from her splintered fingers, Gladio asked her carelessly if she was going to blacken his other eye as well. Silia replied that it depended on the speed he would take off his pants with.
The corners of Gladio's mouth trembled for a moment out of spite, then he decided that it was an offer of peace, not an abuse. He put on a bad face.
"At your orders, Boss."
IV
Silia knocked on the container door that Iris and Cindy had shared since she had settled in Hammerhead. She got no answer. Cindy had been at the garage for more than an hour, or so the welding noise - someone had already complained about it - suggested, but Iris was on break from her training because of her injury. Silia knew that she woke up early anyway to go to the greenhouses, and she was not yet there, nor was she at the diner to have breakfast. Maybe she was sleeping.
"Wait a second!"
There was furious creaking of wire nets. Silia regretted having woken her up. "Iris, it's me. Can I come in?"
"No! I mean, yes, of course, just give me a moment!"
Silia waited outside, her hands in her pockets, amazed; Iris had never been ashamed to appear undressed or disordered in front of her.
"Come in, Silia."
The container was a disaster, as usual. There were clothes on the ground, some clearly dirty, others clearly in progress - since Iris continued to delight with the sewing machine that Silia had recovered for her in Kirkdale - brushes, books, patterns, everything. Silia had no idea who was the main person responsible for the mess, Iris or Cindy. At the Glaives' Facility, if her cot and the floor around it had been under this condition, they would have broken her ass, which is why all the Glaives, even the most scruffy ones, would maintain on the front the good practice of keeping the tents and pavilions in religious order. But oh, they weren't on the front or in a military camp, and Silia wasn't supposed to sleep in that pigsty. Her container was perfectly clean and tidy, although no thanks to Gladio.
Iris was sitting on the cot, dressed, and was fastening her shoes. "I was a little late," she justified herself. "I was going to the greenhouses. Sorry."
"I didn't come to scold you for being late," Silia assured her. "In fact, you should take it easier. You haven't fully recovered yet." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I just wanted to talk for a while, the both of us alone. We couldn't yet. Listen..." she began to say.
"No!" Iris interrupted her, raising a finger.
"No, what?"
"Don't apologize for the accident. It wasn't your fault."
"Instead it was." When Iris had returned to Hammerhead with that wound, she had felt herself dying. She could well repeat that it could have happened with any other daemon or beast at any other time, but it just happened to have happened with the Behemoth that she had allowed her to face, against Gladio's advice. "It's my job to evaluate who's ready for what. I underestimated the extent of the danger." She was careful not to say that she had overestimated her and Claudio, but this was about it. They had improved a lot, they had pledged as Sworn Swords, but they were still damn young and reckless. She would have had to go with them, and what bothered her the most was that, if there had been no discussion with Gladio, she probably would have done so in the end. She had endangered Iris and Claudio for a stupid matter of principle.
"The Behemoth was perfectly manageable. Don't listen to Gladio," Iris protested. "If you let him decide, he would send me to catch frogs saying that I am too young for the hardest missions, until he can say that I am too old for the hardest missions!"
Silia didn't smile at her joke. "Iris, he's your brother. He worries about you. I, on the other hand, haven't worried enough."
"Silia, please," she pleaded. "You worry enough about everything and everyone. Don't think about it anymore. Please. Shit happens, you always say that, don't you? Think of my brother, almost dead for a broken floor."
"That, he looked for," she remarked. "And Gladio's a grown man."
"I too am a grown woman."
"No, it's not like that," she replied firmly. "It's not a matter of age. Until three years ago, Iris, you lived in Insomnia. So did Claudio. Okay, you weren't beginners in the fight, since you are an Amicitia and Claudio was training for the Crownsguard, but it's not the same thing. You've been living in an emergency situation for just over three years. You have made incredible progress, I can't say you haven't. But you're still inexperienced. What I am trying to tell you is that I must be the one on watch. If something had happened to you, I..." She clicked her tongue, in embarrassment.
Iris puffed out her cheeks in a feigned smirk of spite. "You're perfect for each other, you and my brother. Terribly clumsy. Try not to get divorced. You screamed so loud that the children cried. And you came to blows again, right? Don't tell me you shut your fingers in a door and that he bumped his eye on an edge." She sighed. "We were all afraid that you would kick him out of the camp."
Silia didn't want to talk about it. She had believed it as well. She was going to do it. She had lost her temper as never before, feeling in dire straits, terribly worried and guilty about Iris, unable to separate the accusations and recriminations of an arguing couple from the calls of a commander towards his insubordinate man. And yes, they had come to blows. It didn't happen often, but it had happened the last few years, and it always started the same way: Gladio, always ready for physical contact, grabbed her hand or shoulder in the heat of the discussion, and she, out of her mind, gave him a punch.
Gladio had spent days sleeping in the infirmary, and they hadn't spoken, carefully avoiding crossing paths. If another had allowed himself to be so insolent, she would have kicked him out of Hammerhead. She could not afford to be partial. But she couldn't even imagine the idea of sending him away. When he had returned the container to take a change of clothes, she had tried to downplay the situation with a stupid joke. She was sure he was tempted to tell her to fuck off, and instead he had put a good face on it and had taken off his pants. As temperamental as Gladio was, he had a better nature than she did.
"Oh, for Odin's cock, but why do we have to get to that point?" she vented, rubbing between her eyes. Cor was right. At thirty-one she hadn't yet learned to manage her outbursts. Actually, she could do it with everyone else, almost always, but Gladio completely sent her out of her mind.
"You know he's a hardheaded and when he gets angry, he runs his mouth. He didn't really think all the things he said."
"He thought all he said, indeed. If something serious had happened to you, Iris, he would have hold me fully responsible for it and packed up his stuff." She rubbed her aching fingers, looking on the ground. And then something caught her attention on the floor. She got up from the cot and bent to pick up a beige male sock almost camouflaged in chaos. Then she turned to the container window, which was badly closed. She made the sums again and waved the sock towards Iris.
"Someone lost a sock a little while ago."
If there was any need to confirm her assumptions, Silia had it from the shades of purple that Iris' cheeks reached. "Silia, listen..."
"If you tell me it's here because you were mending it, I'll throw it in your face," she threatened, trying not to smile.
"No, that's..."
"Iris," she exclaimed, letting it fall on the ground and spreading her arms in an exasperated gesture.
"Please don't tell Gladio."
Silia sighed. "I won't tell Gladio. It's none of his business. Not even mine, actually, but maybe we should have two words; can we?"
"Okay," she accepted, embarrassed, head down.
Silia returned to sit on her cot. It came back to her when Cor Leonis, three or four lives before, at Cape Caem, had told her that Iris had grown up without a female figure of reference, and to be careful that she didn't become too fond of her. The circumstances had changed radically now. Silia loved Iris as a sister, and as much as she had to do every day, she tried to keep an eye on her in other aspects than the training; even if, for her taste, Gladio did it too much. He had even opposed when Silia had declared Iris ready for the Sworn Swords. "I don't want to patronize you. For these things, indeed, you're a grown woman. There's nothing wrong if you and Claudio are dating, there's nothing wrong if you and Claudio love each other, there's nothing wrong if you and Claudio simply have sex." She raised her hands. "But, please, be careful. About everything. Be careful with pregnancies, unless you wish. For now, the infants born already infected are few, but it happens."
"Please, Silia!"
Silia didn't listen to her. "Tell me the truth, Iris. That Behemoth..."
Iris hid her eyes.
"It's all right," Silia reassured her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She should have two words with Claudio, too. "I knew you were too quick for Behemoths."
"Don't take it out on Claudio. It's not his fault."
"I won't take it out on Claudio. Again, Iris, it's all my fault. Even more so, I shouldn't have sent the both of you." She squeezed Iris' shoulder, then lowered her hand. "Tell me again what happened. Everything, this time."
"It's not Claudio's fault," she repeated. She was about to cry. And she believed she was a grown woman. Her brother was right. "It was a stupid mistake. The Behemoth caught him with its tail as he approached to end it. I told him it wasn't over yet. Claudio fell to the ground and I..."
"You rushed to shield him," she completed for her, feeling, despite herself, a surge of pride. "With your guard uncovered."
Iris didn't reply.
"That's what I meant when I said you have to be careful. Panic can make us lose our minds and get fucked up. I panicked too, when I was your age, despite the training, and even later." She took a deep sigh. "But panic is like an avalanche. If you don't learn to turn it into a gust of wind, it's only a matter of time before you die. And when we're dealing with people we care about," she said, thinking of Hans, thinking of Darius, "it's damn hard. You're smart, Iris, and brave. You'll learn. And until you learn, I must be careful in your place. And in Claudio's. And in everyone's."
For the Six, they were so young. She wouldn't put them together in the same party for a long time. She could almost picture the scene: Claudio trying to overdo it to impress Iris, Iris losing her head seeing him in danger and getting between him and the Behemoth without any precaution. What the fuck was going through her head when she sent them together alone? She should also have considered that kind of dynamic, not just the individual skills and the balance of their fighting styles. But she didn't think it was so serious between them. Who knew how long it had been going on.
"I'm so sorry, Silia."
She smiled, waving her hand. "The last thing you need to be careful of is useless for me to tell you, I guess."
Iris nodded again, rubbing her eyes. She smiled too. "Gladio."
"Yeah. You know I don't lie, especially to him, but this is one of the times I think I will omit to tell him the truth. If he finds out, he'll make your life hell. And even if I'm the chief of this outpost, there are things where not even I must intrude, although you all insist on pulling me into your quarrels as if I also had a law degree." She got up from the cot. She was done. "For now, think about snapping out of it, Iris," she said fondly. "When you feel better, let's start training again."
"Tomorrow works, too, Boss!" she jumped up, saluting.
"Forget about it. Not tomorrow," she disillusioned her. "And not even next week. The following one, we'll see. There's no hurry. Take it easy with the greenhouse. Rest."
"Yessir."
Silia reached the container door, then changed her mind and turned to Iris. "Listen one last thing."
"What?"
"The idiot who just went out the window, our fucking junior doctor, knows how not to get you pregnant, right? Tell me I don't have to explain it to him."
"Oh, please, Silia!" Iris cried, flushing.
"What do I know?" she retorted. "There're people who even get to twenty years old knowing shit about these things. My first lover thought that I could get pregnant even without my uterus. I had to explain to him that he could come inside me without problems, and that anyway if he liked to do it from behind..."
"Silia, get out!"
Chuckling, Silia closed the door behind her. Luckily, it seemed that Iris would never come and talk about those things with her. As open-minded as she thought herself, she wasn't ready to talk about sex with Gladio's sister. For the Six, in a few years it's up to Talcott. I hope to be dead by then.
