The Iron Lady

Baderon watched wordlessly as Jacke carried Lyrian to his room. It was the break of dawn and the innkeeper had just taken up. The sight was unusual and made him wonder what happened.

"On one hand…" Jacke chuckled. "The lad learned not to taunt the Spinner. On the other, the kidnappin's are over. Case solved, in no small part thanks to him. Now I'm takin' him to his room since he can't walk."

Indeed, Lyrian was all but sleeping. He didn't surface the whole morning, which worried some of the patrons. In the meantime, the corpses of Ahtzapfyn, Baenryss and the man in black were put in cages for the ravens and gulls. Thus was Limsa Lominsa's justice. Lyrian finally woke up two hours past midday, his body sore and his stomach empty. Baderon watched him with a smile on his face. I'tolwann had told him the whole story – and rumors ran fast among adventurers. The man thus knew what the Duskwight had done and prepared a solid breakfast, as well as a bottle of special apple cider from Gridania. Despite living in a pirate city, Lyrian hardly drank and cider was the only alcohol he indulged in.

Lyrian sat at a table and smiled as I'tolwann served him.

"With Baderon's blessings." The Miqo'te grinned. "Congratulation for last night. You were amazing."

"I wasn't alone." Lyrian retorted. "But thank. I appreciate. Now, about that breakfast…"

He devoured the meal with a rare eagerness. His body was hungry and worn from last night, though the sleep had helped soothe the wear. Perimu entered the inn as he savored the cider, a letter in hand.

"Hey there." The Duskwight offered the Lalafell a seat. "Slept well?"

"Aye, though not as much as ye. Ye were dead to th' world last time th' boss checked. Helluva long nap if ye ask, but then again, ye had to fight a friggin' voidsent, o' all things! No wonder ye were wrung."

"Yep. Next time, I'll keep my mouth shut."

Perimu nodded and served himself some cider. He usually went for stronger spirits, but just this time…

"By th' by, got a mail for ye, straight from Commodore Reyner's hand."

Lyrian raised a brow. The letter bore the seal of the Maelstrom. He used a knife to open it and read. His eyes widened with each lines.

"The Admiral wants to see me? Personally?"

Perimu looked at him.

"An audience with th' Admiral, huh? Should've guessed."

"But why me in particular?" Lyrian asked. "I'm just a bard who happens to work with the rogues. What could she want that another rogue couldn't provide?"

"Beats me. How 'bout ye ask her herself?"

This seemed like a plan to the Elezen, who went to meet the Admiral after a bit of cleanup. His armor needed some repairs – nothing he couldn't fix. Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn, the Iron Lady of the Seas, was waiting for him in her office. She was as tall as Lyrian, her skin and hair alabaster and a nose as straight as her lips. She was busty, Lyrian noticed, which was made more obvious by the generous cleavage of her black dress. A pair of double-barreled pistols was hanging on her waist.

Her second, Eynzah Slafyrsyn, was standing by her side. Lyrian stood still and put his hands before him, somewhat cowed by the woman's presence. By simply being around her, he could tell why people called her the Iron Lady. This woman was made of tempered steel.

"Lyrian Sombléclipse." The Admiral said. "I heard much about you."

"Likewise, Admiral." Lyrian answered politely.

Merlwyb looked at the Elezen. They were equal in size, his skin the color of ashes, with soft silver hair and his eyes a vibrant shade of purple. He was slim, almost reed-like in build, as befit someone who relied on agility and speed, and his soft features testified of his youth. Nineteen summers, people had said. Finally, though he had gone absolutely weaponless as a proof he meant no harm, he still wore his foppish blue, red and white armor, his bard armor as people called it.

All in all handsome, with a silken bass-baritone voice. Attractive.

Merlwyb crossed her arms. His helping the people of Limsa Lominsa and La Noscea had netted him a kind and selfless reputation. The rogues had testified of a different side, that of a fierce fighter who gave his foes no chance. Rampaging goobbue? Control the earth to impale it. Golem? Go straight for the heart. Humans? Go for the throat. You can't be wrong with the throat. Nice but deadly. A bard.

"You wished to see me." Lyrian said in his most formal tone. "What can I do for you?"

Merlwyb shook her head, a smile on her face.

"You have done more than enough for us already. It would be unfair to ask for more, especially after last night."

Lyrian shrugged.

"You would be in your right. You're the Admiral, after all. You rule the place. Besides, I still feel a bit sore, but nothing too painful. So, what do you want?"

Merlwyb didn't miss the edge in the man's voice. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't going that way.

"What makes you think I may want something of you?"

"Why else would you call me? Besides, if you won't mind me saying, I'm just a bard and rogue-in-training. There's nothing I have others can't give you, except maybe a good song."

It took the Admiral to pinpoint the Duskwight's problem. The realization made her want to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Lyrian believed himself to be nothing special. If Y'shtola and Jacke's words were to be believed, he was anything but.

"So, you believe yourself to be an ordinary person?"

"Aside from my amnesia, yes."

"And yet, you wield a magic unlike any other and bear a Crystal of Light."

"I don't see how it matters in my daily life. Look, all I want is to sing songs and help the other Lominsans. Nothing else."

"You wish for a peaceful life." Merlwyb understood.

"Yes, until my memories return."

A smile crossed the Admiral's face.

"I called you in my office because I wanted to meet you. You have a certain reputation, Lyrian Sombréclipse, and I wanted to see with my own eyes if you lived up to it."

Lyrian blinked.

"Hope I'm not too disappointing…"

"Your attitude is."

The Duskwight recoiled a little.

"Apologies. I didn't mean ill. I just… still don't get why I'm there, of all places. If you wanted to merely see me, you could have just gone to the Drowning Wench."

He meant it. The office made him feel uncomfortable and gave him the itch to turn tails and run back to the inn.

"That is what I mean." Merlwyb sighed. "Your attitude doesn't match what I heard about you."

Lyrian looked down. Eynzahr put a hand on the Admiral's shoulder and uttered.

"If I may say, it seems the boy doesn't feel at ease in there. Look carefully: he's at this from running away."

Now he mentioned it, Merlwyb could indeed tell the Elezen was tense.

"Is there something worrying you?" She asked. "You look on edge."

Lyrian didn't answer. All he wanted was to leave. The Admiral nodded.

"You're free to go. I've seen what I wanted."

It was only a partial truth, but it was truth nonetheless: she had met him physically. Lyrian lost no time turning on his heels and walking out at a brisk pace. He dropped quickly by the Drowning Wench to retrieve his fishing rod – any citizen of La Noscea knew how to fish – and headed to the Agelyss river. Perimu found him there, a straw hat on his head, sitting on the grass as he waited for a catch.

"How'd it go with th' Admiral?"

Lyrian shuddered.

"I hate closed offices, especially with people that intimidating inside…"

"Uh, went south, then."

"She called me to her office to meet me!" Lyrian scoffed. "That's all, nothing else. Just wanted to see what I was like. If that's what she wanted, she could've simply gone to the Drowning Wench an evening. Instead, she summons me to her office as if I was one of her subordinates or a high-ranking official and she wanted to scold me. I hate these places. Last time I was in one, I broke my spear and threw it away…"

Perimu raised a brow.

"Ye used to wield a spear?"

"Yeah, used. I swore to never use one after I got fed up with Gridania's justice…. Or lack thereof."

Perimu nodded.

"There's rumors goin' 'round that ye used to be Gridanian 'til ye got exiled. Somethin' bad happened, pretty nasty I heard."

Lyrian's face darkened.

"…I don't like talking about it. In fact, now you mention it, I don't like talking to officials, period. Jacke doesn't count since he works from the shadows." A smile crossed his face. "Maybe that's why I like working with the Rogues. You're a peacekeeping force, but you don't act in the open."

Perimu nodded.

"Ain't a beef against th' authorities, at least."

"No. I just don't feel at ease around them. Always worried they'd scold or belittle me. Also, I don't like the spotlight. Yeah, I know, it's funny for a bard. But the attention isn't the same."

"I get what ye mean. All rogues are a bit like that. In our profession, ain't ever done good to be th' target of attention."

Eynzahr, on Merlwyb's orders, had followed Lyrian at respectable distance and overheard the conversation. Through his linkpearl, he told the Admiral of his finding. Merlwyb's lips were tight, but she didn't say anything. She understood. The Duskwight was a crystal of many facets: kind, ruthless, humble, mysterious, odd…

At least, now, they knew why things had gone sour at her office: the place and the people present had rubbed off the wrong way. Well, there were ways to get around the problem. Besides, now she thought about it, she did have something to ask him. That, and she wanted him to meet a certain organization.

She waited the evening to act. As always, the Duskwight was at the Drowning Wench, singing songs for sailors and adventurers alike. Merlwyb stood by the entrance to listen. She hummed. The man had a deliciously deep voice. Eynzahr smiled.

"A far cry from the man we met this afternoon, isn't it?"

"Indeed. And now, we know why."

Eynzahr frowned.

"He was exiled, Admiral. How do you want him to deliver your message to Kan-E-Senna if he can't enter the Twelveswood?"

"There are ways to get around the restrictions. If he goes as my envoy rather than a simple person, my authority will overwrite the exile order. Besides, the stay will only be temporary. Time to give the message and leave – it will take less than a day."

"But you know what they say about the Twelveswood. If the Elementals themselves refuse entrance…"

"Then we'll abide by their rules and he'll wait at the edge. Still, I wonder what he did to get exiled…"

"They kicked me out for hitting a Padjal. At least, that's the short story."

Merlwyb and Eynzahr turned to Lyrian, startled. The Duskwight tapped his ear.

"We dark elves have keen ears. It's one of the reasons we're good hunters… and singers. Keen ears are incredibly helpful in music."

The two Roegadyns turned to one another.

"…Did you just call yourself a dark elf?"

"Yes. Why?"

Eynzahr raised a brow. No Elezen ever called himself an elf. This was a major insult among them. Calling a Wildwood a wood elf or a Duskwight a dark elf was ground for cold-blooded murder. He had seen it happen at least once, and told the Duskwight as much. Lyrian shrugged.

"Gridanians don't give a damn about my kin. I know most are bandits, but even those who try to fit in among the population are faced with discrimination. I was no exception… and the friend I lost wasn't either. In fact, it is because of this discrimination that he died. That, and those Elemental pests prevented me from saving him."

Merlwyb picked a seat and asked for two ales and an orange juice. She knew Lyrian wasn't keen on drinking and she was curious about his story. Several people had gathered as well. Lyrian took a seat, put his harp away and recalled the events that led to his exile.

. . . . .

It all started when a trio of Wood Wailers, disgruntled by their low wages, decided to take off with the coffers. On the way, one of them, a Duskwight called Foulques Vandariel, began to feel remorse and convinced his companions to give back the coffers. The other two agreed… at first. As soon as the three returned, Foulques' companions put the blame solely on him. Despite his protests, everyone was convinced of his culpability. After all, he was a Duskwight and Duskwights were bandits, right?

Foulques was jailed for a crime he committed, but not alone. The anger and hatred devoured his heart, until one day he escaped and disappeared in the Shroud.

One year later, a young Duskwight joined the Lancer's guild in the hopes of becoming a Wood Wailer. He was but nineteen winters, the amnesiac apprentice of a bard who sought to master the spear. Coming back from one of his trials, he found the guild in an uproar: a Duskwight, older yet by many traits similar to him, had defeated most of his guildmates and had his spear pointed at the guildmaster, Ywain. Foulques had returned to enact his vengeance upon those who had once wronged him.

Seeing the newcomer, he turned his spear upon him, expecting the younger man to freak out. The young Duskwight, Lyrian, didn't flinch.

"Point that somewhere else, will you?"

Then he pushed the spear away from his face. New as he may be to the weapon, having been trained as a bard meant Lyrian was a keen archer. As he explained Ywain:

"In a spear fight, I will lose. But let me take my bow and he'll be a hedgehog before he made three steps."

It was neither recklessness nor bravado, but the confidence of someone skilled in his field. Foulques may be the better lancer, but the young bard had the advantage of longer range. This is why, no matter how much Foulques taunted him, Lyrian never gave in. Had he wanted the rogue lancer dead, Foulques would have never seen his demise come.

Under Ywain, Lyrian trained, developing a clever and somewhat unorthodox fighting style. The whole spear was his weapon, not just the sharp end. Fouques learned it the hard way when, fed up with the man, the younger Duskwight caught him by surprise and knocked him with the butt of the pole. Foulques found himself on his rear and facing a quite miffed lancer.

"What in Oschon's name is your problem!? You keep taunting us again and again, endangering us with no reason whatsoever when all we want is to train in peace, and instead you put us in life or death situation against rabid monsters! Ria nearly lost a hand to a boar during your last stunt and I was at this from switching to archery when you put me against those wolves! Now, tell me why you do that, and your explanation better be rock solid, or else…"

Foulques recoiled before the fierce purple eyes of the man. He had expected him to fight back at some point, just not like that.

"I told you why. I am teaching you true courage…"

"That's chocobo crap and you know it! What you call courage, I call it recklessness! Jumping head-first into danger isn't being brave, it's being suicidal! Do you have a death wish or what? If that's the case, I would appreciate you didn't drag us along. We value our lives, thank you very much!"

Those words were what Foulques needed to open his eyes. Indeed, he was being suicidal. The pain of betrayal and the unfairness of his judgment had driven him over the edge, sending him on a rampage that would eventually end in death, most likely his and anyone he managed to drag along. Lyrian was the only one who had seen through his act and caught his real intentions.

With tears in his eyes, Foulques confided in the whole story: the theft, the guilt, the betrayal, the escape… Against all expectation, Lyrian understood, and his arms held the lancer tight as his tears flowed free. Foulques held nothing back, no detail, no tear, no emotion. Lyrian took it all and offered comfort in return, as well as the promise Foulques' former comrades would get their comeuppance.

That very day, he told Ywain everything. The guildmaster lost no time launching an investigation. In the meantime, Lyrian trained, praying in his heart his master would be successful. And Foulques kept low, not once going to Gridania or challenging a single trainee. He was bidding his time, waiting for his new friend to make good on his word. And, indeed, Ywain caught Foulques' former friends… but it was too late, for the Wood Wailers caught Foulques the same day.

Backed in a corner, the rogue lancer was forced to fight for his life. There were casualties, of course. When Lyrian came, he found six dead Wood Wailers at the Duskwight's feet and the last slowly but surely pushing him toward a chasm. Lyrian knocked the Wood Wailer and grabbed his friend's hand, saving him from the fall. Foulques then clarified the situation and, tears in his eyes, begged Lyrian to tell him the nightmare would be over soon. Lyrian had just told him Ywain had found his former friends when a spear lodged itself in the lancer's back. The last Wood Wailer had regained consciousness and gone for the kill.

Rage in his heart, Lyrian took the spear and threw it right in its owner's heart, killing him on the spot. He then tried to heal Foulques, only for O-App-Pesi and a group of Wood Wailers to come and stop him. By the time they were done arguing, it was too late. In his dying breath, Foulques uttered a thanks to the only man who ever showed him kindness, the sole person in the Twelveswood who had understood his pain and helped him overcome it. Lyrian found himself paralyzed, unable to believe the man he had fought so hard to save was now dead. When he did…

His slap was strong enough to leave a lasting mark on the Padjal's face. For this, and for the crime of helping a wanted criminal, Kan-E-Senna banished him from Gridania and the Twelveswood altogether. Thus was the decision of the Elementals. Enraged by Foulques' death, Lyrian broke his spear in a fit of jest and threw it before the Elder Seedseer.

"Perfect. I won't want to return to this place ever again. You could have avoided it." He added accusingly. "If you hadn't bought in the lies of Foulques' comrades and understood they were framing him, it wouldn't have turned that way. But instead, you let racism and discrimination cloud your judgment, and now he's dead. You know what? You're no better than Ishgard!"

The barb hit its mark as several people recoiled. The Holy See's racism was well known across Eorzea. To be compared to it was a grade A insult, and one that stung.

"I am leaving, not because you're exiling me but on my own free will. I want nothing to do with this city and its people. You say get away and I say good riddance. It wasn't a pleasure knowing you."

And so he left, under the hushed whispers and eerie silence of the people present. The Gridanians' racism and xenophobia had brought an unexpected disaster, one that hurt their mentality. Wanting to put the Twelveswood away from him, Lyrian picked a boat and headed to Limsa Lominsa, but not before giving Foulques one last present: a grave of stone and snow in the frozen land of Coerthas. Lyrian didn't want the rogue lancer to be buried in the land that had turned on him. Instead, he gave him funerals in the land of the Dragoons, the Ishgardian masters of the spear. In his mind, it was the most fitting place.

. . . . .

Now, there he was, a bard in exile, earning his living through songs and odd jobs. Lyrian had been soured forever on Gridanian mentality and sworn to never use a spear out of resentment.

Merlwyb quietly nodded. Now, she understood why Lyrian wasn't fond of authority and preferred to avoid it. But Limsa Lominsa wasn't Gridania and the affair reminded her of Summerford and Sevrin. The former pirate had attempted to sell his comrades before turning against his employers out of guilt at the last moment and surrendering himself to justice. The man was currently doing community work under the careful eye of the Yellowjackets and showed no sign of relapsing in a criminal mindset. His desire to atone was genuine, as had Foulques before his comrades turned on him. Had the affair occurred in Limsa Lominsa, the Duskwight would have shared Sevrin's fate. She reminded herself to address the matter next time she met Kan-E-Senna.

Baderon brought Lyrian a new drink. The Duskwight sipped it softly. There were wet trails on his cheeks, silent tears shed as he recalled the story. Everyone could tell the pain was not yet gone and he still suffered from the loss. No one dared to speak aloud, instead keeping their voice to toned-down whispers. And, from what Merlwyb could hear, those were angry whispers.

Perimu had been at the inn as well and had heard the whole tale. It explained a lot of things about the Duskwight.

"Sorry fer yer loss." The Lalafell said. "Yer pal wouldn't have met the same fate had th' mess occurred in Limsa. Fer starters, we rogues would've stolen the money back…"

"I know. That's why I like working with you guys. But he was going to give it back and surrender himself anyway."

"And we'd have treated him and his pals like we treated Sevrin. Ain't such thing like racism in Limsa Lominsa. Everyone here comes from all kinda horizons. We can't afford to be."

"That is something I've noticed. Yui, Kiyoko and I are exiles and you still took us in."

"Aye. Unlike th' other tree-worshippers, we believe in second chance, long as your crime's not too bad. Rape, slavery, murder… Things like these, we punish with a stabber in th' back. The rest, well, ye know how it works."

Lyrian frowned and looked away.

"Something few people know or that they tend to forget is that the Seedseers are bound to the will of the Elementals. And trust me, those beings are very real. And if you don't abide by their rules, either you're punished with Woodsin and the entire wildlife, from the wolves to the boars to the ladybugs is out for your blood, or you face the much wider Greenwrath, which is the Elementals deciding to wipe an area clean from human presence. If the Seedseers don't play ball, they run the risk of incurring the Greenwrath over the entirety of the Twelveswood, which means goodbye Gridania, the Quarrymill, Bentbranch Meadow and every other settlement in there." The Duskwight crossed his arms. "So, fair or not, Kan-E-Senna had to obey the Elementals and kick me or face their wrath."

Everyone was dead-silent. Eynzahr frowned.

"I had… heard about those mysterious Elementals that seemed to be ruling the Blackshroud, but I didn't know their influence was so great. This puts a lot of Gridania's actions into a new light."

"Indeed." Merlwyb nodded.

The thought of obeying beings like the Elementals didn't sit well with her if it prevented her from making the decisions she wanted about the city. Affairs like the one involving Foulques and Lyrian was one of them. She reclined in her seat, a scowl on her face.

"How much at odds are you currently with Gridania?" She asked the Duskwight.

Lyrian paused.

"I'll behave cordially as long as one doesn't bring the affair with Foulques."

"So, if someone sent you there on an errand, you would be able to fulfill it."

"Depends the kind, and it also depends if the Elementals will let me in. If they don't want me in the Twelveswood, you'll have to entrust the errand to someone else."

"It's simple delivery, actually. Just a message I want you to give to Kan-E-Senna. I have another for Raubahn Aldynn, but here again, it will depend of your standing regarding Ul'Dah."

Lyrian grumbled.

"My only grief with Ul'Dah is that I wish they had an organization like the Rogues' Guild to keep the corruption to tolerable levels. That apart, I got a few friends in the Pugilist and Thaumaturge Guilds."

Merlwyb nodded.

"Very well. I will give you the messages tomorrow. Eynzahr, do you believe you can accompany him? If he's refused entrance in the Shroud, you will be the one who'll give the message to Kan-E-Senna."

A smirk crossed Lyrian's face.

"Delivery boy? That's up my field. I'll take on the job."