Side story after Monarchs in Flight AU, where the Warrior becomes Titania and Fray becomes the Warrior in their place. Spoilers for all MSQ through 5.2. Gaia/Ryne and referenced Fray/WoL. Set during Eden 1-4.
"This is not," Fray said sternly, "a difficult decision."
The air atop Eden was brisk, nipping at their skin and tearing their words away from their mouths before they even could yell them fully. There were no guard rails on the open platform; he'd nearly been blown off several times in the fight with the armored knight and its voidsent ally. They were all risking themselves unnecessarily to linger like this beneath the open sky, exposed to any number of Sin Eaters that might be left to dive upon them like a flurry of locusts.
Once again, Fray thought darkly, I am the only one of us who has an onze of common sense.
His glove cut sharply through the air to point at the puddle of armor lying upon the platform. "We kill it," he explained painstakingly, "toss the body off the side, and then we are done. Whenever some force of Darkness tears its way through empty space to try and murder you, Ryne, you are not obligated to give it a better resting place than the midden heap."
Ryne, crouched protectively between him and the unconscious intruder, only continued to shake her head. "You can't!"
Fray drew in a deep, exasperated breath, and then realized - regrettably - that she had a point. "No, you're correct." As tempting as it was to aim for the quickest solution, he had to at least grant her that much. "That worked out terribly for Nidhogg's eyes, didn't it. We'll set the body on fire first. I'll cut off its limbs."
But Ryne made a wail, clinging to the very same enemy that had brought itself and its little minions to bear against them, and Fray found himself baffled by her sudden attachment. While their intruder was no Sin Eater, that alone gave them no reason to be spared; Thancred had mentioned questioning the stranger for information, but judging by how she had raved before collapsing, Fray doubted she would offer anything substantial enough to justify the effort.
"Is this like some sort of phase where you want to take in a pet?" he asked, regarding Ryne with no small amount of disbelief. "Adopt the first rabid nutkin that tries to go for your throat?"
"There's still so much we don't know about Eden." Showing no concern for being stabbed in the back at any moment, Ryne only continued to kneel beside her would-be murderer. "We need to make these choices carefully before we do anything rash."
It was already too late to dissuade the girl. Fray could tell. The Warrior of Light had always worn that same blastedly stubborn expression whenever they had dedicated themselves to saving someone, and he'd never been able to out-argue them then.
He firmed his mouth in a frown. "Choices? Aye, let's start with this one." With a few brisk steps, he closed the distance between himself and Ryne, and then swept a hand towards the horizon's glare, where the sun was turning the frosted gleam of the Empty into pure gold. "Do you see that speck in the distance? The one coming towards us at increasing speed? What do you plan to do about that?"
Alarmed, Ryne scrambled to her feet and ran forward - Thancred and Urianger joining her as they tried to pinpoint the newest threat - and then turned back just in time to howl in protest as she spotted Fray, who had already grabbed the intruder by one of its armored boots, and had hauled them halfway to the platform's edge.
In the end, they had outvoted him. Fray hated it from the start. Keeping someone alive was never worth the risk, no matter whether it stemmed from mercy, the desire for answers, or just not liking the chances of them coming back from the dead. So many of their foes were prone to the latter habit these days. Even cutting someone's head off was no safeguard against their corpse gallivanting around in the latest seasonal fashions while inciting political turmoil.
The only sensible action the group had taken was to bring their attacker back to their campsite and then to Mord Souq, rather than leave her directly inside Eden's core. Even then, they hadn't asked for guards. Thancred had at least parted her from her armaments. While their intruder was no Sin Eater, the thought of giving her free reign was beyond foolish - it was like opening the door to your own assassin and handing them the knife with your blessing.
Not that Fray wouldn't put that past his current companions either.
Burdened with their surprise guest, the Scions had chosen to spend the night in the trading settlement, waiting to see if the girl's vitals would stabilize enough for her to wake up. Dinner consisted of the plainest fare that they could scrounge for; the bread had only a few ground-up worms in it, and the Mord had sighed as pointedly as they could about the poor taste of their guests while still retaining their pleasant, conciliatory demeanors. Urianger had brewed up some horribly strong tea, claiming that it was still better than what the markets sold - a verdict that Fray wasn't entirely convinced of, for the Mord liked to add a pleasant cinnamon to many of their cups. There were other spices too that Fray couldn't fully identify, though Thancred always looked distinctly queasy whenever one of the merchants offered to sell him some, which spoke volumes considering the man's customary standards.
Fray was just forcing the last of the roasted beetles down - they weren't bad, if you picked off the legs first to keep them from sticking in your throat - when Ryne earnestly started up on her half of the argument again.
"I know that this might be a ruse to gain our trust." Neatly tearing off a small chunk of her bread, Ryne dipped it carefully in the small bowl of jelly before popping it into her mouth. The Mord - still mournful over how dull their guests were with their cuisine - had managed to sell them a bit of flavoring that they claimed was derived from various desert plants, though Fray remained deeply suspect. "But what if that's not her fault, or even something she's aware of? She might be as much a pawn in this as any other innocent, and it's not right to punish her if she wasn't in control of her own actions! And hurting her might be exactly what our enemy wants us to do!" Gathering momentum again in her passion, Ryne looked up to Fray, shaking the half-eaten remains of her bread emphatically like a battle flag. "We can't just go around killing things to solve our problems."
Fray took a deep swallow of his tea, feeling it scour his belly like acid. "That is, on every technicality," he pointed out, "my precise job as Warrior of Light. If the Scions bothered to pay me, that would be what they would pay me for. I'm owed a kingdom in back wages. Or at least a decent house in the Lavender Beds."
Ryne opened her mouth to answer, and then paused, momentarily taken off-course by his remarks. "You'd have a house? What would you do with it?"
"Sell it to another adventurer, probably." The bread looked tempting, but Ryne had refused to eat the beetles; Fray had given her his portion instead to make up for it, trying to content his appetite with only half a meal. Now, his stomach was protesting. He took another sip of his tea to quell it. "I asked Tataru once about travel expenses, and she just giggled maniacally in my face. Lalafells are truly terrifying creatures, you know."
Ryne scrunched up her eyes in brief confusion; the only experience she'd had would have been the occasional dwarf, Fray realized, and that would have been limited to her time after escaping Eulmore. But then understanding lit her eyes, and she made a nod, likely from Minfilia providing the reference. "Even so," the girl rallied gamely. "She's been unconscious ever since we fought her. It's wrong if we do anything to her without even learning her name."
"And if she wakes up, she can use her powers to summon more creatures directly into Mord Souq, and slaughter civilians by the dozens. This is a terrible idea." Scowling, Fray appealed to his other option next, hoping she was still listening. "Please, Minfilia. Talk some sense into your apprentice."
But his only answer was a brief flicker of a fond smile, and a knowing look as Minfilia shook her head - and then he was left with Ryne's stubborn optimism, all sunny with its complete refusal to acknowledge reality.
"Minfilia's at least part of why I think we should." Taking up the case once more, Ryne swung her feet restlessly. "She says that she's sensing a lot of Darkness around our stranger, enough that it feels like Zodiark's power. If aught happens to them, then that Darkness might just jump to someone else - and then we wouldn't know where it ended up until it attacked us again."
Irritatingly enough, the point was valid. Fray took another drink of his tea. "All right, then. So we take this girl back to the Crystarium, and imprison her for safekeeping to ensure her powers are contained - "
He realized exactly what he was saying when Ryne's expression went suddenly bleak, stripped of all expression save dread. The girl swallowed hard, jaw tight as a vise as her breathing sped up, gripped by a horror that she could not yet find voice against.
The suggestion had been so easy to make. The citizens and soldiers in Eulmore must have reasoned it out in the same fashion when it had come to the Oracle, backed by Ran'jit's willingness. Locking Ryne up must have seemed like the safest solution for both her and them.
They had likely made that decision in the same manner that Fray had just attempted, and thought themselves wise for it.
Fray lowered his cup. Then he set it down completely, pushing it aside so that he could demonstrate that the matter had his full attention, without trying to skirt around his misstep.
"No," he agreed. "You're right. We won't. We won't, Ryne," he repeated, waiting until she jerked her eyes back up to meet his gaze, and then slowly started to relax again. "But I don't want you to get hurt either. How can you be so sure that this won't end up with Eden destroyed and you badly injured? Even killed?"
He expected any number of point-by-point arguments, rationales and defenses for action. How to make sure that the stranger didn't have any access to weapons, or rotating shifts for guards. Some sort of method to monitor the girl's aether, or restrict it while still allowing her freedom in other ways. Everything that he and Thancred and Urianger had discussed quietly, going around in circles with no clear solution that felt safe enough without resorting to open hostilities.
But the simple, optimistic hope that came back over Ryne's expression - wiping away her terror and turning it cheerful once more - stemmed from an entirely different strategy.
"Because it's what Thancred did for me and Minfilia," was the girl's answer. "He came to save us from Eulmore's control. We weren't really people to the rest of the world before that - just the Oracle, someone on the other side of a faceless suit of armor too. So if we can give this person the same chance to be free of whatever or whoever would try to own them..."
She trailed off, searching for the right words to continue pleading her case. Fray did not pre-empt her; he poured another ilm of tea into his cup, and considered how much more he could stomach of the brew.
Finally, Ryne made a firm nod. "It'll turn out for the best," she promised. "If we show that we're willing to listen to her story, and extend our friendship to her, then everyone will benefit. She can help us understand Eden, and we'll fix the Empty, and it'll all end up that much better. You'll see!"
Fray felt the smirk on his face, though it was tempered by humor. "Just like that?"
"We've got to start somewhere, don't we?" Ryne's expression was wide-eyed as a newborn fawn, guileless with faith in her own ideals. "Even if we make mistakes with our trust, we won't get anywhere if we don't offer it at all."
Trust was a sentiment that Fray never had much use for. He'd relied on it anyway when he'd taken on the mantle of the Warrior of Light, making the risky bet that the Scions would accept him rather than imagine their ally had been replaced by a stranger. Even if they spotted that something was off about their companion, there were excuses readily available. The second Lightwarden had been slain, the Dancing Plague given rest at last: such trials were enough to explain away any number of foul moods, particularly with Eulmore's outrage in tow.
And they'd noticed. Fray had done his best, but the Scions had seen the change. Yet - like a parasite - Fray had benefited from their trust anyway, embedding himself stubbornly into their lives as they had gradually reshaped their relationships to fit around the new contours that the Warrior wore.
He was not the only accidental outsider the Scions had been forced to welcome.
After the destruction of Emet-Selch and the nullification of the Light, the Exarch had largely left Fray alone. They saw each other regularly during meetings between the Scions where Beq Lugg demonstrated progress with various crystals, and Alphinaud reported back on Eulmore's recovery. The Exarch had already declared his new, improved plan of being willing to kill himself as a hero for them all - only if necessary, he promised, but Fray had watched the furtive flicker of the miqo'te's eyes, no longer concealed beneath a convenient hood.
G'raha Tia had played his hand out, only to discover that he was seated at the wrong kind of gambling table altogether. He had accepted his failure gracefully enough, at least. After Emet-Selch's destruction, the man had attempted to mend fences more than once with Fray; the result had been a series of awkward conversation starters that had died within the first few moments, Fray brushing past the Exarch disinterestedly while the man had made failed attempts at small talk, falling silent with his mouth turned down in resignation.
Another problem that Fray had no interest in solving.
But it came for him anyway, on the very next afternoon after his return from the Empty as he sat with Beq Lugg and watched the crystals simmer in their aetherial baths. There was a certain level of comfort in being around faerie-kind, though Fray would have never imagined describing it in such a way - and Beq Lugg was far easier to deal with than a pixie. The nu mou had loyally kept Fray's secret along with Titania's, glossing over the mystical thickness of everyone's souls and not mentioning certain other connections, for which Fray would have been hard-pressed to lie about otherwise.
Besides, the faerie was one of Titania's subjects. If Fray was going to look out for anyone, it might as well be them.
These were the rationales he told himself as he watched the nu mou bustle around the workroom, their tail slapping against the ground in annoyance as they stopped to peer at the crystals at routine intervals, dissatisfied every time.
"Still no luck?" Fray asked after another fruitless lap.
"With all the knowledge stored within this Tower, one might well imagine the secret to be sitting on a convenient shelf!" the faerie huffed. "If it were memory alone that we needed to transfer, 'twould have been a ready thing by now. I am fond of the Exarch, but truly! He did stir up quite a hornet's nest by groping around through the rift as blindly as he did!"
"Hnh," was Fray's disinterested reply. He reached down to scratch his leg, studying the crystals as they soaked in containers of red aether - aether which refused, resolutely, to do anything but slide away without being absorbed. "Could be worse, I suppose. Half of them could already be dead."
He hoped to dodge any further worries, but Beq Lugg had more than enough of a head of steam to keep going. "And there are even more secrets that he still shares naught of, though I know how much they weigh upon him! In this land you wish to journey to, with the Exarch separated from the Tower... even if the aetheric bond can be safely severed, would such a life be that much better for him than here?"
"I doubt it." Casting his thoughts back to the scant news he'd bothered to pay attention to in Eorzea, Fray frowned. "I think the organization he used to work for was mostly destroyed? Students of Baldesion, or suchlike. There are a few friends in Mor Dhona he can bunk with instead, I suppose. Take odd jobs running packages. Sleep on the floor, wash up in the lake, the usual."
Beq Lugg's tail thwapped authoritatively against the floor again. "That does not seem like adequate reason to exchange his position here, where there are many who care for him dearly and would see him well provided for. I know it grieves him that he was not able to help as much as he wished in regards to the Light, but he needs not pay penance for it!"
Fray squinted up his face, feeling a wave of annoyance coming on - not directed towards Beq Lugg specifically, but from having to deal with the inconvenience of having to speak at all. His truest conversations had always been executed with the speed of thought and emotion. It was far easier to feel something than to pick out words which approximated it. No matter how often Fray used speech alone, it still felt like only half a conversation, a facade of interaction that limped along with only half its intended meaning.
"The Exarch could always stay here, and make good on his apologies with Titania," he couldn't help pointing out sourly. "The two of them can settle out the truth of it together. And I imagine Titania can find a way to keep the man walking and talking, even should he finish his transformation into a rock."
He was lucky that Beq Lugg had a faerie's sensibilities; the nu mou paused and gave serious consideration to the possibility, their mouth broadening into a thoughtful frown. Then they sighed. "I would very much like to spend more time with the Exarch myself, even with all the headaches he brings. Yet he knows that he has done you all a grave ill. If he does not have a chance to remedy it, I fear he will find no further joy in his days - whether they are spent here, or in a land far away."
Fray shrugged - but Beq Lugg was peering at him now with the same beady disapproval, and Fray found himself slouching back defensively against his chair. "Not up to me, is it? He's got to decide what to do with himself next. The high-and-mighty Crystal Exarch doesn't need to wait on my permission."
"On the contrary, Ul Tyr," Beq Lugg said firmly. "I believe he thinks he does."
Fray's first conversation with their unwanted prisoner went about as well as he expected.
After the Oracles had made their stances clear and the Scions had further rallied to preserve the life of their captive, Fray made an effort to hold his tongue: a monumentally difficult task in light of so much collective stupidity. He restrained himself in the conversations afterwards as Urianger and Thancred discussed what to do next, and then as he'd slogged through battles with Leviathan and Titan while cursing his poor memories of the fights back on the Source. He'd even avoided making any comments when the stranger had finally woken up and promptly identified Thancred's true purpose in life as being a pack chocobo. Clearly, Fray's role in the whole affair would be to merely watch the girl, and kill her the second she showed any signs of renewed hostilities.
It seemed the simplest way to handle it all; death often tended to be.
He was still nursing a badly bruised leg, and dreading any future primal fights to come - he hadn't paid any attention to the Warrior's confrontation with Bahamut, and what if that huge singing Moggle thing came back - when Gaia marched directly up to his corner in the inn.
He looked up balefully from the small collection of ointments and tonics arranged on the table. Ryne had forced it all upon him under the promise of swifter healing; now, he reeked like a mint field. The worst part was that it did seem to be helping already. "Yes?"
Gaia gave him an equally dour scowl back. "So what are you in all this?" she demanded. "Hired thug? Idiot lackey? The people around here all call you both the Warrior of Darkness and the Warrior of Light, so which side are you on?"
"No one's," Fray answered flatly, capping the lid on a jar of salve - and then scowled as the image of wings briefly passed through his thoughts, shimmering gold and orange and making him into a liar. "No one that subscribes to such categories, at least. I thought we would best be rid of you after we overcame you on Eden's crest," he added, ignoring both the medicines along with the ache in his leg as he leaned back in his chair and considered her. "That's the side I'm on, if you're counting."
The girl's heavy sleeves rustled as she folded her arms, undeterred. "And is that supposed to make me afraid?"
Fray slid another tin of ointment open, releasing a stiff odor of chemicals; this one had a neatly written note from Ryne, ordering him sternly to apply once a day or face her displeasure. There was even a little spreading trowel for it too, just in case someone used their fingers to rub it into their skin and then touched their eyes, or another sensitive part of their anatomy. "You'd have heard it from someone either way, so best to have it in the open now, before it's a surprise," he remarked dryly. "Consider it like this, if it helps. Out of all of our group that you've met, I'm the one who cares the most about the best way to reach a person's heart."
The unexpected change in direction had Gaia arching an eyebrow; she jammed her hands on her hips next in a restless attempt to conceal her nervousness, but he could see her already expecting a trap. "And how is that?" she challenged. "Through your scintillating wit? Mayhap your warm and welcoming disposition?"
Not bothering to waste words, Fray picked up the ointment trowel and gripped it parallel to the ground, held in place with his thumb. Then he shoved it forward in a short jab before abruptly hooking it upwards, watching Gaia steadily the entire time.
It was a demonstration that needed no further explanation, not when one applied the principles of anatomy to it. He could see it register in Gaia's eyes as her smirk faded. She retreated away half a step, her weight leaning away before she steeled herself stubbornly and nodded.
"All right," she said with a toss of her chin, sounding more regretful than smug for once. "Seems like you're just like me, then - which means we're both stuck."
As it turned out, Gaia was far less invincible than even she liked to pretend to be.
Fray missed the signs the first time when they were traveling back to Eden. Gaia had been hunched against the side of the skyslipper, angrily ignoring all of Ryne's attempts to engage her in conversation, glaring towards the sky and breathing in a deep, measured rhythm. He missed them the second time, on the way back again to the camp - and then again when they were ferrying themselves back and forth all around Amh Araeng, to Mord Souq and away once more.
But he caught them at last during a trip off the Western Kholusian Coast. Urianger had insisted on examining the aether of what remained of the ocean where it abutted the barrier of the Flood - an opportunity to compare how the Empty was reconstructing itself, now that the vital force of water had been restored to it again. By evaluating the nullifying force of the arrested Light against its environment, it might be possible to detect any stagnation which might pollute the Empty's waters in proximity, and account for what might be safe for living beings to consume.
At least, that's what Fray thought the elezen had said. Without a chance to protest properly, they had all ended up being towed to the Venmont Yards, and then onto a rickety ship that was pulling double duty as a fishing vessel.
All of which led Fray to discovering Gaia crouched in the darkest corner of the hull, pressed desperately next to an open porthole which was splashing her regularly whenever the ship rocked.
"Still don't want to go up top?" Fray asked, bracing himself against a stack of crates. The waves chose that moment to heave once more, lurching the ship back and forth in a swaying surge of motion.
Gaia opened her mouth - and then promptly scrambled for the porthole again, making her answer in the form of a thin trail of bile, her stomach already too empty to vomit up more.
Slumping back to the floor, she glared back up at him, her dignity marred by how she was wiping her mouth with a handkerchief that looked as if it had given up the cause bells ago. "I'm perfectly fine here, I'll have you know. It's not my fault I'm not an expert at traveling like a coinless vagrant, unlike the rest of you."
Fray smirked, undeterred. "Ryne will be disappointed that you're not up there with her," he needled, and was rewarded with Gaia closing her eyes with a frustrated sigh at the reminder.
Ah, he thought. So that's already how far it goes.
He crouched down, squinting at her pallor. "You'll need fresh water. Even if you think you can't keep it down," he added. "Else the headaches from dehydration will leave you too weak to even retch properly. Stay put, and try not to crawl anywhere while I'm gone."
Gaia opened her eyes again simply so she could roll them in his direction; Fray ignored her silent protest and climbed his way back up to the ship's galley, searching for the vessel's cook.
The girl hadn't moved by the time he returned, though he wouldn't have put it past her to make a partial attempt, if only out of stubbornness. Sheer exhaustion had left her suspended in a light doze; she startled as his boots clomped over the floor, struggling upright only to clamp her lips shut again as the ship merrily rolled through another wave.
"Here." Crouching beside her with a waterskin and a tin cup, Fray waited for her to accept both before he fished a small pouch out of his supplies, tugging the lacings open so he could shake a few pale yellow shreds of vegetable matter into his palm. "The cook gave me half a root, but you'll only want to cut off a few bits at a time. Chew a piece until it goes soft, and then keep chewing until there's nothing left."
Gaia eyed the pale yellow clippings as if they were a handful of dead spiders. "Is it poison?" she asked - which was a reasonable enough question, truthfully.
Fray had already planned on her reaction. He picked off a piece at random, jamming it into his own mouth for demonstration. "Ginger root," he answered. "Works against nausea. Better in tea, but you've got a ways to go before you want to pour anything hot into your belly right now. Once you can keep down a bit of bread, we'll work our way up from there."
She watched him warily - but was swift enough to mimic him, snatching up the ginger and promptly devouring the largest two shavings. As she chewed, she blurted, "I hope you aren't expecting me to thank you for making me ingest some dirt-covered plant, are you?"
Fray snorted. "I'm not expecting to hear anything about it at all. Anything, you understand?" He held Gaia's gaze with an arched eyebrow, waiting until she slowly nodded. "Now, hurry up and get some strength back. There's still a few bells left in the day - and you've got better ways to spend them than being stuck down here alone, right?"
The girl eventually made her way up from her self-imposed exile belowdecks - though before she was entirely ready, Fray figured, watching her stumble around with one hand gripping the nearest rail, tottering on those stilt-like shoes she had refused to change out of. Ryne's excitement more than made up for her counterpart's lack. The girl tugged and tugged on Gaia's sleeves, demonstrating an equal degree of stubbornness until Gaia finally relented and joined her at the prow, shielding herself uselessly from the ocean spray as Ryne squealed in delight at sea serpents in the distance.
Fray merely shook his head, perched on a spare crate as he worked idly with a fishing line, tying and retying it around the loop of a heavy steel jig. Neither belonged to him. He'd borrowed the set from one of the sailors, and then had been hastily forced to flee from an onslaught of enthusiastic questions about various catches, every fisher finding something to brag about to the vaunted Warrior of Darkness.
A flying whale would have bested the lot. Too bad that story wasn't Fray's, either.
Yet as the evening began to gradually settle in, his work was enough to catch Gaia's interest. She clopped unsteadily down the shallow stairs to his part of the deck, and peered at the cord in his hands. "You're a fisher?"
Fray gave her a bleak stare. "Do I look like I have that much patience?"
Gaia didn't cower back. "No, but I can't imagine you're doing it just to be helpful. Even if you were, I'd imagine you'd rather stab a fish than hook it."
She had a point. Fray shrugged, finishing off the clinch knot with a tug of his fingers before holding it out to her for inspection. "I don't really remember how all the different knots go," he explained. Even after all his practice, it remained awkward to pick his words at times - to remember to say, I, myself, me, instead of, the Warrior. "Back when we... when everyone traveled to Othard for the first time, there wasn't much else to do on the boat. Some of the sailors taught us different ways to tie off the ropes. It feels like forever since those days. Figured I'd see if anything was still left behind."
It was more than half a lie. Fray hadn't bothered to pay much attention when the Warrior had gone through the different combinations of loops and twists, closing himself away in the back of their soul and grousing about sleeping until there was something interesting to kill. But the Warrior had kept working with the various ropes anyway, day after monotonous day. They had experimented and practiced endlessly, until - just like a weapon exercise - some of the motions had passed into the muscles of their hands, memorized like the interludes of a dance that floundered without another person to perform them with.
Fray hadn't listened, back then. He didn't remember all the right steps. But each attempt he made now felt like brushing his hands against another's shadow, listening for their patient whispers to guide him: a murmur so quiet that he could only fumble his way slowly towards it in the gloom, twisting strings into archaic shapes like an arcanist's geometry.
Gaia kept squinting at the fishing line, tentatively pulling at one end of the knot as if to see how it might be coiled together. Fray reached up without warning, giving it a yank; it unraveled in her hands, and she yelped as she caught at the metal jig to keep it from falling.
"Memory's a funny thing, isn't it," he said abruptly. "We all imagine that it's the heart of who we are. When it's gone, we think we've lost everything about ourselves - but that's not quite true. No, not even for you," he added, catching Gaia's resentful pout. "You still remember how to talk, how to use a knife and spoon, how to put on your clothes halfway properly. That knowledge is still left in your body, in the physical aether itself. It remembers parts of your life for you."
As he had talked, Gaia's expression had turned thoughtful, though no less sullen. "But that's still not me," she scowled. Looking down at the tangle of fishing line in her hands, the girl pulled at the cord until it slipped out of the jig, and then tried to rethread it again. "What's the use of being able to perform a trick if I don't know how or why I learned it in the first place? Otherwise, I'm no better than a trained shoebill."
Fray stooped down, catching the other end of the line; it was long enough to provide some slack between them, which was useful when he held it up for demonstration. Pinching the cord around in a long oval, he waited until Gaia realized what he was doing, and imitated a similar loop with her end.
"If I really wanted to make these all correctly," he explained, "I'd ask one of the sailors to show me. But I don't care how much of it I get wrong." Meticulously winding the cord around the main line like a noose, Fray paused to give Gaia enough time to catch up. "Someday I'll get it right. Or maybe I won't. No one gives a damn, least of all me."
Her version of the clinch knot was already slipping loose, coils expanding haphazardly between her thumbs. Her frown, however, was clearly defined. "Does it help? When you think you're only getting more and more wrong the harder that you try?"
The corner of Fray's lips pulled into a smile as he watched Gaia's knot slowly unravel. He could see it, faintly: the distant blur of the Warrior's hands as they hadn't finished tying everything correctly and it had all come loose again, spilling the hook to the floor and laughter out of their mouth.
"Then at least you're trying." He snorted then, letting the memory sink back into the protection of the past. "And that means you haven't given up on yourself completely yet."
Urianger's expedition was thankfully short. Both he and the sailors had stared mournfully at the impassable wall of aether as the elezen had muttered something ominous about ocean currents and stagnation, and effects upon wavekin life. Fray had eyed them all sharply, hoping that no one would demand to fling him into the depths with a rope around his waist like an anchor stone, sounding the depths to see how far down the blockage went.
But no one came upon that particular idea, thankfully, and the sailors had turned back towards the Venmont Yards while Gaia had gripped the railings and gnawed doggedly on wads of ginger, spitting out the gristle with all the grace of a sailor expelling their chewing tobacco.
From there, it was back to the Crystarium for the scholars to bemoan the results as usual. The news of their next destination had delighted Ryne; the girl had nearly exploded with excitement, tugging on Gaia's hands and insisting on the million places they needed to visit now that they had an excuse of seeing the city together at last.
Fray, meanwhile, abandoned them all. It was quiet enough now that he had decided that Gaia could be someone else's problem. If she did try to summon voidkin and murder them all, he figured she would do it dramatically enough that he'd be able to spot her from across the Crystarium and arrive just in time to say, I told you so. Urianger was similarly quick to entrench himself with the librarians of the Cabinet, forcing Thancred to find other entertainments; the Wandering Stairs was rumored to have a table with the man's name freshly carved into it. Ryne was occupied with keeping her pet murderess from sneering the city's walls into char - leaving Fray free to skulk up to the highest walkways above the markets, where he planned to be safe from anyone attempting to be friendly in his general vicinity.
Which meant, naturally, that it was a peace destined to be short-lived.
When the rhythmic clank of a familiar staff trickled up to Fray's perch, he groaned and tried to resist the urge to bolt for the nearest stairwell.
Watching the Exedra below was a fair enough pretense for distraction. Rows of Crystarium soldiers had assembled for a mass practice session, taking advantage of the open space to form up in various combinations of their ranks. Fray kept his gaze fixed upon the exercises, refusing to look away - until the staff and its owner finally stopped beside him, and equally refused to move.
"I had not thought to find you up here." The Exarch's remark was pleasant, as if they had simply crossed paths in the marketplace while looking for the same bolt of cloth. "Are you enjoying the view?"
Fray flicked a quick glance sidelong. "Am I taking your spot?"
His answer was a laugh: neither confirmation, nor denial. No other explanation came forth. True to form, the Exarch simply waited in what onlookers might have imagined was a companionable quiet; Fray, however, had been around Y'shtola too long to interpret it as anything save prelude to an attack. With his luck, the Exarch had hunted him out to finally express some form of relief that Fray had survived the fight with Hades, or to have a heart-to-heart conversation - or, worse, something in the vein of an apology, which would imply that Fray had to be gracious about accepting it, or at least not inadvertently throw it back in the man's glittering face.
His only chance of survival was to go on the offense first. "I see they're not changing their formations," he observed aloud gruffly. "Congratulations, Exarch. At this rate, they'll get their damned selves killed before another century has the chance to pass by."
This statement served to derail whatever the miqo'te had planned; the Exarch immediately craned his head to study the troops. "What do you mean?"
Fray jerked his chin down towards the tiny dots, made nigh-indistinguishable at such a distance: a swarm of black and red troops, their helmets gleaming like blisters under the afternoon sun. "They're still fighting like they would against eaters. See how they tighten up, make sure that no one gets too far off on their own? It's so if someone gets turned, another sword will be there to try and kill them before the change finishes, isn't it." He watched the flanking units turn as one, practicing their maneuvers around a central circle of soldiers that must have been pretending to be the threat. "Don't you think you should tell them to stop?"
Drawn towards the dilemma being presented, the Exarch joined Fray at the edge of the walkway, leaning his staff to the side so that he could peer down. "Though the Lightwardens are gone, Sin Eaters remain." He shifted, folding his arms gingerly on the railing - taking care, Fray noticed, to pad his weight on the limb that remained flesh, as if he did not want a reminder of his own inanimacy in hearing his body scrape against the metal. "And there are no small number of beasts still haunting the roads."
"Aye," Fray acknowledged. "But other nations' soldiers are no beasts."
Silence opened up again between them, broken only by a slight rasping as the Exarch dragged the toe of his sandal across the ground, fretting the leather of it against the walkway.
Only a coward waits to be told what to do, Fray wanted to blurt: a retort as wildly thrown as a blunt dagger, whose only benefit would be to startle one's opponent into action. But speaking would give something for the Exarch to reply to, and then Fray would have to respond back or else award the man the last word, and then they'd be talking, gods forbid. He'd do better to open his own belly with a knife, and let his entrails decorate the trainees below.
Finally, the Exarch forged ahead in the battlefield between them. "It seems presumptuous to invite fresh distrust from our neighbors by treating them as enemies-in-waiting. Eulmore is at peace with the Crystarium now that Vauthry's influence has been purged. The new mayor seems hardly inclined to invasions."
"Right. And since everyone's not dying constantly to Sin Eaters anymore, that means we'll all just get along merrily together on what little land is left." Every map of Norvrandt that Fray had seen had looked pitiably small. The proportion of viable farmland had been even worse. Il Mheg, at least, would be safe, even if anyone claiming lineage to Voeburt tried to resettle it; Titania would not neglect their people, or sell out the kingdom's soil through a trade deal. "And as the Empty starts getting restored, everyone will agree on sharing it in equal measure too, is that it? I know you're not that naive, Exarch. Or were all your stories of tragedy after the Eighth Umbral Calamity just a pack of lies so you'd feel you could fit in?"
It was an insult too cruel to be laughed away as a joke; even through his habitual indifference, Fray could feel how far he had crossed over the line. Yet - though his ears had laid themselves flat in displeasure - the Exarch managed to restrain himself from lashing out. The man took a moment to visibly consider his words, pressing his lips together in thought, and then finally spoke.
"Despite all that has happened, the survivors of the First chose to band together in support and salvation. The difference between their actions and those on the Source has given me no small amount of comfort over the years." The Exarch's voice was mild, but the expression in his eyes as he glanced at Fray lacked anything in the way of gentleness: it was a flat assessment, one that betrayed the speaker's knowledge of the answer before the question was even posed. "Do you believe that such peace will fall apart so quickly, after we have fought for so very long to win it?"
Below them, the Crystarium soldiers stomped their heels in unison. The beat of it was like a metal drum, ricocheting around the cradle of the Exedra. One of the lieutenants called out a fresh command; half the troops turned crisply in place, bracing their spears against an imaginary charge.
"Believe?" Fray's laugh was a harsh and rattling thing. "My only surprise is why no one's sought to profit from it faster. All these newborn adventurers swanning about, hoping to be heroes, needing armor and weapons and supplies? Everyone hoping to rebuild their lives faster than their neighbors, in fear of losing chances for themselves? I can tell you this much, Exarch: if Nanamo ul Namo really had died to that rat Teledji's poison, you'd have seen half the stalls of the Sapphire Avenue Exchange selling commemorative plates with her profile painted on them before the week was through. The other half would've been paying thugs to break into the storehouses of the rest."
He shoved himself away from the vantage point, unwilling to spin out the argument further into circles of maybes and what ifs. There was no need for him to waste the effort of defending his points - not when time itself would prove him right.
Unfortunately.
Others might have said more, or sought a way to turn the simmering tension into a bridge instead, letting the heat become one of cauterization rather than continuing damage. Fray was none of those people. If the Exarch would not leave of his own accord, then Fray had little choice but to make the decision for them both.
He cast one final glance at the man, who stood slumped against the railing with his crystal fingers curled loosely around the ornate staff of office. "Well, Exarch?" he asked, leaning pointedly over to eye the distant ranks assembled in order, line upon line of soldiers whose entire business revolved around battle. "How soon will it be before your granddaughter leads your city's troops to fight the next war?"
The second of his unwanted visitors was one that Fray did not expect - at least, not without Ryne in tow. Unluckily enough, Gaia had apparently managed to not only escape her would-be captor, but also had made it her business to hunt down Fray the very next day.
Now she was frowning down at him and his perfectly reasonable perch in a remote corner of the Quadrivium outside the Wandering Stairs, overlooking the mountains of Lakeland and a plummet straight off the edge.
"How did you even find me?" he asked pointedly. It had taken a great deal of effort to get the waitstaff to serve him coffee out there, mostly because they hadn't seemed to believe that Fray was actually serious about squirreling himself away like a gremlin near the airship launch. They kept giving the grass puzzled looks whenever they came out to check on him, as if they expected he was secretly summoning elemental constructs through use of the lawn.
"The Warrior of Darkness, in the midst of a city that nigh-worships his name?" Tossing her head, Gaia made a pronounced roll of her eyes. "Bewildering, I know. It's almost as if every single person he might pass would take note of his direction, and eagerly gossip about it to others. Can you imagine."
Fray tried not to be too offended by that, though it was difficult with Gaia exuding as much contempt as possible, one hand planted on her hip as she studied him. "Come off it then," he growled at last, if only to put an end to how she was insufferably right. "We both know you're not here for the pleasure of my company."
As though he had uttered the right incantations of a spell, all of the girl's amusement evaporated instantly. She plunked herself down on the ledge next to him, sinking her chin into her palm as she directed her brooding towards her boots.
"Listen," she began, resolutely not making eye contact. "You need to make amends with the Crystal Exarch."
Fray gave her a flat look. "Why?"
"Because - because I hardly care why!" Rubbing her temples with her fingers, Gaia grimaced, looking as happy about the matter as Fray. "Look. It seems to be important enough to Ryne that she keeps mentioning it almost every bell that we're here. Unless you want to make what is already a painful experience that much worse, you'll do it so that I can finally have some peace and quiet, all right?"
The demand in her voice might have cowed anyone else, as imperious as an empress. Fray only continued to stare.
"You've no loyalty to the man," he noted painstakingly, wading through the logic like mud. "And I have even less reason to like him at all. You might recall that his original plan was to concentrate all the Lightwardens' aether into one vessel, aye? If not for the Warrior's - for my - convenient arrival, that vessel would have been Ryne. Seven hells, it nearly was her anyway!" His voice had begun to rise, echoing into the open air nearby; he bit it back with an effort, though he could still feel the anger of it in his jaws. "For all his claims about saving the Warrior of Light along with the world, the Exarch's poor strategy nearly killed me, all because he wished to play hero. And now... now you want me to bake cookies with him and make nice?"
"Don't you think I know all that?" Finally surrendering to the absurdity of the situation, Gaia huffed a sigh, tossing her head as if she similarly could shake off all associations with her companions. "Anyroad, I tried to kill you too, and look where I am now."
Fray glanced at her, and then - rather pointedly - looked deliberately over at the steep dropoff nearby.
She didn't miss the implication, nor the reference; the girl folded her arms stubbornly, as if she intended the concentrated mass of her own ego to root her immovably in place if he did decide to try and fling her into the abyss. "You and I both can tell that the Exarch has do-gooder written all over him. Ryne thinks that if you give him any more reason to believe you won't miss him, he'll only continue to try and sacrifice himself in a way he thinks is clever - except that this time, he'll sneak off and do it before anyone can catch him. And then the entire Crystarium will feel bad, which I couldn't care less about, save that Ryne seems to have an opinion on the subject. Swallow your pride, Warrior," she snapped, as if she were the one acting nobly, rather than merely following her own interests. "Hurry up and make my life easier."
The coffee in Fray's cup was growing cooler; he took a shallow sip, considering his options. As much as he felt like resisting - and he had every right to resist - her lecture about heroism had reminded him of his own part in it. Like it or not, Fray was the Warrior of Light now. Lately, he'd been forgetting it was a disguise at all. Somehow, the role of being the Warrior had simply settled over his shoulders, and even though he would have gladly told the entire world to sod off, there were still duties he had to fulfill.
Titania had shown him that, even if it had been a bitter lesson at the time.
Fray stared down at the coffee, its glossy surface catching the sky above and offering nothing in the way of insight. Would Titania have forgiven the Exarch, back when they had been the Warrior? Yes. Would Fray? No, a thousand times no, and pretending otherwise would not instill him with any more willingness for the act.
But he had to do something, clearly. Like the responsibility of saving the Source, or rescuing the Scions from their customarily terrible decisions, Fray could not forget the part he played now.
"I refuse - " he began to insist anyway, a halfhearted bid for more time, but Gaia pounced before he could even finish the sentence.
"Besides," she interrupted treacherously, a trump card laid down upon the table while all the gamblers held their breath in dread, "Minfilia thinks you should too, apparently."
Fray stared at her for all of a disbelieving, outraged moment before making a noise of disgust. Two against one was hardly playing fair - three now, since Gaia had given up all common sense and had joined in against him.
"The Exarch would have killed her too," he protested faintly. "All under the excuse of saving the world."
"Attempted murder does seem to be how people make friends around here," Gaia snapped. She flicked her hair back restlessly over her shoulder, smoothing it down from how the Crystarium winds had scattered it in a tangle. "In which case, it's no wonder everyone fawns over you. Listen - I don't care if you ask the Exarch out for biscuits and coffee, or if you skip directly to swiving him on the Tower's steps. But if you don't give Ryne sufficient reason to believe that you're trying to prevent the Exarch from a second round of martyrdom, then I will make you as miserable as she is over this, I swear it."
"The Scions will be grateful for my grudges when we fight Zenos again," he pointed out.
But Gaia was already overriding that logic. "Then at least pretend long enough to get him through the portal. That way if he falls down dead, it'll be on your side so Ryne won't have to cry about it here."
"And that matters to you?"
"Of course not!" Straightening her shoulders back, Gaia leveled a cold stare towards him. "I just don't want to clean up the mess."
The justification was sound enough; Fray might have used the same logic himself. He had, several times in the past. But - like a battlefield charge that had just veered off-course and ended up in a ravine - there was a wavering in the steel of Gaia's spine, and he followed his instincts to chase it, reeling his thoughts backwards through probable causes. It was no surprise that Gaia had begun to grow fond of Ryne. Anyone watching the two interact could see as much, even if Ryne seemed simultaneously delighted by and unaware of the depth of Gaia's attachment. For Gaia's part, her only other options for company would have been either Urianger or Thancred; in comparison, even the skyslipper would have looked appealing.
Yet the stubbornness of it all was keenly familiar. Gaia didn't have any interest in getting on Fray's good side. The whole of her efforts was bent towards a bull-headed decree, ones that cared for nothing save a single end-goal, and that was a sentiment which Fray knew dearly.
"So," he said, laying down each syllable like a leafy branch masking the pit beneath, "Ryne's the one who convinced you to have a soft heart, eh? Didn't know you were that obedient to her."
"What?" Visibly stung, Gaia recoiled on the bench; her grimace was as good as a dropped sword. "No! She doesn't even know I'm here talking to you right now. And if you've any common sense," the girl tacked on tartly, "we'll keep it that way."
Refusing to crumble on sheer principle, Fray merely lifted his coffee in an exaggerated display of indifference. There was something refreshing about having to quarrel with someone else who had no pretense of selflessness - at least, none save a token effort, too feeble to bother defending. Part of him appreciated her straightforwardness. The rest of him continued to balk.
"You want me to get cozy with a man who tried to kill me," he repeated blandly. Then, before Gaia could try and couch her attack under some different claim of self-interest, Fray clarified, "Or rather, you want me to do it because it's a way of making Ryne happy. Because you want her to be, and naught else matters, does it?"
Instantly, Gaia narrowed her eyes, jaw tightening - but Fray knew he had struck deep past her guard, and it was too late to deflect. These were all the same tricks he used, the same bluffs. The same frustrated anger that roared upon seeing the person you cared for upset, when nothing you did could convince them to simply not care. To be like you, even when you knew how much that would go against their nature: to discard the compassion inside them that was so infinitely precious, urging them to forgive.
Until, at last, you sought to take matters into your own hands, wading gracelessly into quandaries that you had no idea how to manage other than stomping them down.
Fray shook his head.
"And that's why you came to me. Doesn't matter what I want. Doesn't matter that you don't actually hold any interest for the Exarch's health." Even though he could hear the disgust in his voice, it wasn't sincere; he couldn't be angry, not really. Gaia's pride was no less than his own. Both of them were fools - but there was no saving either of them from it. "Ryne's your Faerie King, after all."
It was a parallel that likely had no meaning to the girl, but Gaia's shoulders suddenly dipped anyway. "Faeries," she said - and, too late, Fray realized that the word meant something entirely else to her than the gleaming fields of Il Mheg. She pressed her lips together, her expression floundering through an unhappiness that didn't know what else to call itself yet. "I... I don't know how to approach Minfilia yet. Or how to - how to even think about her. I know she's someone who's linked to Ryne's soul, or that their souls are just similar enough. But the way that Ryne talks about her, I..."
Trailing off again, Gaia tried to scowl at the lawn once more, but only succeeded in a wince. "Either she's like my faerie, and that's frightening - or she's not like that at all, and I don't know where to start figuring her out."
For a vivid moment, Fray thought about sending the girl to someone else for advice. Then he considered the actual options on hand. Y'shtola was safely entrenched in the Ascian ruins; he cursed her good fortune. Everyone else was a disaster. "Sitting here won't give you that answer, you know. The Scions aren't experts, either. If you love Ryne - "
Gaia's head jerked up, her eyes wide. "I don't - " she began, snapping the words in a panic.
"If you love Ryne," Fray repeated, throwing all his emphasis behind each word, "then you'll make the attempt to understand. Minfilia will reincarnate, but Ryne will only be around once. This single chance is all you'll have. The bond between those two isn't going to be one you can replace - nor should you. All you can do is focus on being the best person you can be for Ryne now, before it's too late."
He picked up his coffee again, swirling the last ilms of it around the bottom of the cup before swallowing it down. "When the ones we love are better people than we are, it's our responsibility to grow to keep up." That lesson had been a difficult one. Fray had pushed and yelled and fought with the Warrior, but it had only been when they had begun to walk the same road together that he'd truly had a chance to speak with them. He'd had to learn. He'd had to become strong enough to accept that path, because it had been the only way to find that future together at their side. "Even if they do things we don't always understand, like save a village or a flock of baby dragons that serve no other purpose save for annoyance. Because we can't help it, can we? All we can do is follow along behind those radiant souls of theirs, drawn to them even when everything they do seems so godsdamned foolish. We'd do anything to keep standing in that warmth of theirs, like one giant sunbeam wrapped around us until all we can do is bask in it and hope it never fades. And anything is what we will do. That's what we are, creatures like you and me."
He watched Gaia as she silently absorbed his words, fists curled up into stubborn lumps as she stared down at the ground in denial. Even after helping to save the world, he still wasn't any better at making speeches - but it was easy, when he thought about Titania.
Everything in him led back to them.
"And that's why we end up doing things we'd never agree to on our own," he continued, letting his mind wander through the fondness of the million ridiculous tasks he had endured on Titania's behalf - all of which had been worth it. "Because we know that it would make them glad, even if they aren't right there with us at the time. Even if they're never told that we were the ones who helped. As long as we know it's something they might wish for, no matter how pointless we might consider it - "
With a sudden jolt, Fray heard his own logic working its long, circuitous way around, until he found its sights squarely lined up on the worst place imaginable: on him, with all the ammunition of Titania's happiness behind it.
The Exarch had been their friend, after all. That fondness had not vanished after they had become King. They would want him to mend bridges with the man, too.
"I'll go," he agreed aloud, thoroughly disgusted with how he'd outmaneuvered himself. He could already envision Ryne's delighted applause. "Gods damn you all, I promise I'll go talk to him."
It was disappointingly easy to gain an audience with the Exarch. There wasn't a single guard that dared to bar Fray's way under the pretext of following proper channels or propriety; he could wander all over the Crystarium however he pleased, thanks to the communal delusion that he was always on very important business that involved saving the world. Again. Every time Fray headed anywhere remotely close to the Dossal Gate, every soldier leapt eagerly to escort him into the Tower, assuming that the Warrior of Darkness and the Crystal Exarch were the dearest of trusted companions who wept to be separated by even a bell.
He'd hoped that the Exarch's schedule would have been too busy to receive him - but when he inquired off-handedly, at the lowest point of the afternoon when the man should have been heading off to dinner - the gatekeep was all too happy to usher him inside before Fray could think up an excuse to escape first.
His one condolence was that the Exarch looked as panicked as he did to receive him.
"Warrior," the man said cautiously, and then glanced over Fray's shoulder towards the door, as if expecting Y'shtola or Urianger to prance through afterwards to explain the visit.
"Exarch." Fray swallowed, making no effort to gentle the grim set of his mouth. "Let's talk."
They retired to the nearest study room, the Exarch's staff tapping on the floor in the same agitated rhythm as a struggling heartbeat, as if he were one step from breaking into an outright run to get away. Once they were inside, the man went straight to the nearest side table to prepare some tea. He kept his hands busy by fussing about with pointless minutiae as the water boiled, picking up and discarding teacups until he discovered a pair that was completely spotless, and abandoned them just as swiftly.
Fray regarded the table glumly. Despite his demand, he had no more desire to be there than before. Nor had he prepared anything useful to say. Impulse had carried him this far - but that was all.
They both lingered in unwilling silence until at last the kettle hissed like a distressed miqo'te, and they no longer had any excuse to avoid each other.
With an audible sigh, the Exarch assembled the rest of the tray. He set it down in the center of the table, placing Fray's cup just within reach, and then took his seat across the table with the solemnity of a man at the executioner's block.
"Is it about the crystals?" he began, his voice so lightly polite that it came out breathless. "We've made adequate progress - "
"You still want to come across the gate with us."
The Exarch's ear flicked.
The man was swift to recover, every ilm of his nonchalance forced out like cheese being slowly strained in sackcloth. "The Tower will take me, one way or another. Either it will be a slow expiration here among the people of the Crystarium - or the experiment will fail on the Source. At least with the latter, my life will be another step forward for researchers. An... honorable fate, that."
Fray didn't allow him the illusion. "To be used as sacrificial fodder, with no care for the effects upon a creature's life? Aye," he noted blithely. "It seems as if you take after your Allagan ancestors after all."
Once more, the Exarch's discomfort was made plain by the shift of the man's shoulders, the rotation of his long ears. But he continued doggedly, fingers clinging tightly to his teacup despite how it must have burned the mortal skin still remaining. "Things are... indeed different from how I had first imagined this would all conclude. 'Tis true that I had once longed to join the Scions and fight beside you all. Yet, mayhap it is no longer my place to do so anymore. That dream that grew from a centuries-old memory - and memories are often mere phantasms when compared to the reality of the present. But I do not wish to perish here on the First either, where I can see clearly the shape of my end. Instead, I will reach again for the uncertainty that the future may bring. If it is to be my final act... then it will be performed in honor of the person I once was, so long ago."
It was a proud enough speech, rife with dignity - and resignation. Nowhere in all those pretty words could Fray hear the determination to survive.
If the Exarch went across the rift like this, the man would almost certainly die.
Not my affair, Fray thought darkly to himself, and then inwardly groaned as he thought of Gaia impatiently tapping her foot, and Titania's unhappy frown.
He exhaled and searched for any way out of what he was about to say next, because like hells was he going to apologize for something when he wasn't in the wrong for it - for any of it, and coddling one of the people who was felt like kneeling down in front of Vauthry and swallowing a bellyful of meol. "Exarch. G'raha. I know we haven't been on fair terms since my - since everything that's happened here on the First. There's been a lot going on. I've had some... anger about it."
But G'raha was already shaking his head, studiously fussing with the folds of his napkin. His tea remained untouched. "As is well within your rights to be so. No. You and the other Scions made it quite clear that I have... misstepped in several ways. And while the others have been generous in their forgiveness, they were not placed in the same dangers that you were. I would not - I should not expect you to think otherwise."
The small hiccup in the man's speech was so smoothly brushed over that it seemed negligible - but G'raha suddenly turned his head away, seeking to conceal his expression. Yet his hood was no longer there to hide him, and in the instant before he could correct for the lack, Fray could see the deep, unhappy curve of G'raha's mouth, the pinching of those red eyes in unhappiness.
The pain itself was no surprise. Fray had been aware of it from the start. But in comparison to everyone else's safety, everyone else's suffering, Fray had shoved aside the Exarch so that the man could tend to it himself. There hadn't been time, otherwise. There had been too much to protect.
Yet the Light was no more. It was easier to acknowledge G'raha's situation now that Titania was out of danger, and there was no risk of them being hurt by it. The Exarch was no longer a threat. What remained was simply a person: a lost adventurer left behind by the very goals they had dreamed of, stripped of the promises they had fed to themselves for a century, abandoned to the ruins of their own defeat.
"You could have told us your plans from the start, you know," he could not resist pointing out. "Urianger himself should have advised you better."
He thought that the barb would slide off the miqo'te's practiced defenses, deflected away like so much else the man had managed to dodge. But G'raha, surprisingly, nodded. "Aye. I should have. Even though the Warrior of Light stands at the front of the line, they do not triumph alone. They may wield the blade, but 'tis the hand of the smith that arms them, the healing of the conjurers which mends their wounds. And so 'twas vanity that led me to seek to master both staff and sword, thinking I could make myself into the perfect companion for you when you arrived one day - a savior, so that you would not have to be the one to bear the ultimate burden once again. But it was not enough. And... I should have accepted that I could never be."
Like a blanket whose threads had been dyed with so many colors that they confused themselves to the eye, Fray let his attention sort through the explanation before picking out the opening he sought. "Mayhap. Listen, G'raha. I don't want to be your friend."
Decades of diplomacy served the man well; Fray's announcement only brought about a hard swallow. The miqo'te's voice was steady, though his ears were folded so far back that the crumpled leaves of them looked as if they had been chopped off into nubs. "Understandable. I - "
"Not as you are now." Fray's palm slapped the table hard enough to rattle the cups; his greatsword slid a resentful ilm away from his chair. "Remember that original plan of yours, the one you and Urianger concocted like a pair of skulkers? In all your delusions of being a hero, you neglected to think of what you would rob from the very people you claimed to protect. You wanted us to think of you as a villain. You made the decision to force that down our throats. Did you ever stop to ask yourself if carrying around that rancor would be something we'd actually want?"
Leaning back in his seat, Fray laced his hands in his lap. "Now, me? I don't give a damn. I'm happy to hate and forget you forever if you're stubborn enough to be like this. But do you think Alphinaud and Alisaie want that pain for the rest of their lives, reliving that same anger and hurt every time they're asked to trust a friend again? Or to experience the despair of hoping you'll make it back alive to the Source, only to lose you at the very gates?"
The argument hit and stuck this time; G'raha opened and closed his mouth abruptly, bewildered into losing whatever tidy counterdefense he must have strategically coached himself on. He huffed a short breath, as ragged as a man still coming to terms with a sudden wound, and then dipped his chin.
"I had not thought of it in such terms." The crystal of his fingers gleamed as his hand curled slowly into his robes, clutching unconsciously at his chest. "It should have been... freeing for them to be allowed to lay all the blame upon me, a liberation from any guilt. And if I should perish on the Source - why, then it will be naught more than chance. None of it will be their fault. Only mine. Only I will have failed them."
It was a pretty speech: martyrs had sung the same verses for generations, each of them flinging themselves gleefully to their deaths without ever once looking back over their shoulders. Fray sighed. "Hatred has a weight, G'raha Tia. So does grief. If you should ever doubt that, then look at my sword and remind yourself otherwise."
He did not miss the way that the miqo'te did, red eyes sliding downwards - remembering, perhaps, the way that same blade had plunged into the Ocular's floor, scarring the pristine beauty that had been crafted by a civilization long-dead. The man looked suddenly fragile again, as if all the power of his office had evaporated on the spot, leaving only the naked helplessness of the person who had woken to the aftermath of the Eighth Umbral Calamity and then again to the blasted skies of the First.
"Then," G'raha suggested weakly, "if I cannot stay and I cannot go with you, mayhap it is time for me to find a new road among the stars." One of his fingertips drew a wavering line across the table, aimlessly wandering. "After all, I have already traversed time itself. What greater distance is there than that? And in the quiet of the rift, there will be no one for me to burden, however my fate should play out."
Fray pressed his thumbs into his temples. "G'raha," he repeated, feeling his jaw clench. "When you care about someone, you make the effort for them, even if you don't always see eye-to-eye. Right?"
"I... yes."
"Then," Fray said, feeling as tired as if he were speaking to the Warrior again, to Ardbert - to Gaia on that stupid boat, to everyone who was so stubborn about refusing to ask for help that they'd drown themselves first on purpose just to avoid it, "let them try to save you, G'raha. Let yourself be saved. Make the choice for it. Let it happen."
All his practice at pretending to be the Warrior hadn't made Fray any more diplomatic; he felt as clumsy as ever, a man hacking away at a wall with a greatsword rather than simply unlocking the front gate. But it was enough. G'raha's expression softened, turning stricken, broken - yet his eyes were wide, blinking rapidly as he faced the possibility for once rather than fleeing from it.
"I wish you had come here with the demand that I perish quietly after all," he finally admitted, giving a shaky laugh. The angle of his ears was already easing up, cautiously unfurling. "It would have been simpler."
"And what would be the point in that?" Fray smirked. "You already wrote the end to that story, G'raha. Now you get to start a new one. Are you ready?"
Before the miqo'te could concoct some other fancy loophole to excuse himself out of his own survival again, Fray reached a palm out, clapping it down over G'raha's right hand. Then he caught the other one, feeling crystal and flesh press against his skin, twitching with the same terrified panic as a pair of trapped mice.
Startled, G'raha's knuckles jumped beneath Fray's grip, reflexively seeking to escape - a single jerk before they began to tentatively relax, braced for a rejection that did not come this time. A faint smile flickered on his face and then blossomed to life, caught in the space between hope and disbelief.
"Aye," the man relented at last. "I suppose I am."
"For what it's worth," was Titania's opinion later, when Fray finally worked up the nerve to mention it, "I think you did the right thing."
"Don't even start," Fray groaned, and buried his head into the crook of his elbow to hide his chagrin, listening to Titania chuckle as they stroked his hair through the night.