A/N: If you're reading along, leave a review!
stars bear witness
The entire process takes a few hours in total- a few hours of chilling, icy silence for Zenos. Every time he attempts to speak to the other man, the Miqo'te deflects his words, running to speak to another harebrained civilian in the camp or another one of his comrades. No matter who he approaches, however, their reactions are always the same: initial joy at seeing the Warrior of Light blossoms upon their faces unfettered by doubt, and then, shadows engulf them entirely as Zenos steps up close behind.
Pathetic. Their reactions disgust him each and every time, and yet, it is their familiarity with the Warrior of Light that angers Zenos more. How he longs to scoff in their faces, to spit at their churlish displays of wanton welcome, to draw his blade and send them careening into the void at their sheer audacity to speak with such warmth and closeness to the Miqo'te-
The man at the centre of the attention pays this tension no mind- at least, he appears as such. He has made up his mind, he repeats lowly to his comrades who dare to question his choice to watch over Zenos. The Warrior of Light shall be the one to act as the Garlean's guardian, as far away from Garlemald as possible in order to allow his people to heal. None may sway his staunch heart; even when Alisaie reappears with Urianger, the younger softly cursing Zenos' presence and the fact that fate has bound him to her comrade, the Miqo'te merely hugs her as he had her brother and bids a swift reunion for them both.
She weeps softly, glaring at Zenos once she regains her bearings. He merely stares back, his stomach swirling in discontent and something dangerously wanting- something which he can only describe as envy.
No one trusts Zenos. They stare at him like naught but a plague upon their land. In contrast, everyone trusts the Miqo'te. When torn between the two…
He hates that he even has to consider what these fools think of him, or that he must recognize the bitterness which the MIqo'te apparently carries in his heart, if his comrades are to be trusted.
Yet, it could still be worse. As the Eorzean champion is pulled aside for the nth time, Zenos merely crosses his arms and closes his eyes, ruminating upon the one thing which he must keep in mind; all that matters is that apparently, he shall be journeying with the only soul he has ever yearned to keep by his side. If he can do that, well… this farce shall be well worth it, he decides stoutly.
The Warrior of Light has a simple plan, it seems; they shall travel by aetheryte to Radz-at-Han at the heart of Thavnair, then jump once more to the scholarly city of Sharlayan. From there, a simple boat ride shall bring them back to Limsa Lominsa, and their journey shall commence in truth.
At the end of all their preparations, their bags are laden with goods and gil and gear. Yet, not once has the Miqo'te deigned him worthy of facing once again.
Although he had been gracefully silent throughout these final preparations, Zenos decides to hold in his queries no longer. "What do you seek?" Zenos finally allows himself to ask as they approach the aetheryte at the centre of Camp Broken Glass.
The champion finally pauses as they stand, bags in hand, before the spinning blue crystal shimmering at the heart of the central square. "I've already told you the basic plan," the Miqo'te replies simply. "Radz-at-Han is first."
Nonsense. Before the other man can turn away yet again, Zenos steps in his way, lowering himself onto one knee. The question upon his lips has been bubbling, brewing, mutating and congealing into an incongruous mass for the past few hours; at last, he allows himself to look up into the Miqo'te's face directly, pale eyes boring holes into startled emerald without remorse. "What is the destination of your-" and he pauses, a quiver of delight pulling his heart, "-of our journey?"
For a moment, the Miqo'te seems utterly flabbergasted, dragging his eyes away as if he has been burned by Zenos' stare. He recovers quickly, however, brow furrowing in contemplative, weary silence. Eventually, he finds a response from deep within himself, his face darkening as he finally returns Zenos' gaze of his own volition for the first time since decided to take charge of the Garlean. "I… do not know," he admits softly. "I've been told to… to 'take a break'. So I'm doing that."
Impossible. You have always been driven beyond measure, my one friend. "You… have no goal?"
"Destination-wise? No." He pauses, eyes clouded over with memories of vistas Zenos cannot identify. "...well, maybe. It matters not."
"Should I not know where I am being led?"
"Does it matter?" the Miqo'te challenges. Then, he sighs, shaking his head. Suddenly, a wave of apology washes over his face as he holds out his hands in clumsy, weary pardon. "No, that is unfair- you don't remember, so I should not-"
Zenos finds that his lips tremble in delight at this sudden lowering of the guard, narrowing his eyes to peer up at the man through thick blond lashes. "No. I suppose not. I do not mind, however."
"Alright." Letting out a long breath, the Miqo'te readjusts his pack upon his shoulder. "We should be off."
Zenos stands, and the Miqo'te places a hand upon his bicep to ensure their aethers flow towards the same location. The slight touch sends shivers down his spine, but Zenos keeps himself still, eyes locked upon the spear upon the Miqo'te's back, the ears which flick in concentration, the sweat beading upon his brow-
Then, emerald eyes flick back up to Zenos. "Wait. What- what is your name? Do you remember?"
The sudden question knocks him off balance, but Zenos remembers his response in time. "No," he replies with practised precision, "I do not."
The Miqo'te pauses, then whispers, "...Zen. Your name is Zen."
He knows he should laugh at this. His name is certainly not Zen, and they both know it, but the Miqo'te's voice is so soft and unsure that the desire to play along with this laughable ploy coats his tongue unbidden. "Thank you for telling me. Call me 'Zen', then."
"Okay." A long moment of silence, unreadable, tense. Zenos does not break eye contact with the other man, relishing in the sudden silence, free of the prattle of commonfolk flooding his ears.
Eventually, the Miqo'te is content. Without another word, the Warrior of Light turns back to the aetheryte, furrows his brow, and after a moment of intense concentration, the aether swirls through his fingertips and into Zenos' body; then, it is dark.