Author's Note: Still super open to critique and questions. o xo Kraehenhexe, thank you for existing gosh. I love Maroda a lot and I'm looking forward to developing his character through this fic like you would not believe.

Adelphotes

By LeFox

Chapter Three: Brothers

Though he still wasn't entirely willing to trust machina, even those approved by Yevon, Isaaru found he was willing to make an exception for the sake of hot bath water. He hadn't quite realized just how filthy the journey had left him – between being hurled into the ocean and spending the better part of the day walking toward Bevelle, it was a wonder the temple hadn't tossed him out. Isaaru filled and drained the tub three times before he was satisfied that all of the salt, sweat, dust, and grime had been sufficiently scrubbed away. His clothes had been taken away to be cleaned (or perhaps burned), but Zuke had been kind enough to lend him some clothing. They didn't quite fit, but they were clean and comfortable.

He made his way through the house, marveling at how large it was; homes simply didn't get this large anywhere else. And as far as he could tell, Zuke seemed to live alone despite the enormous space. Was this normal in Bevelle? Sin rarely attacked this holy city; perhaps that was why the people here felt secure enough to build greater houses. Maybe in Bevelle, home truly was a place of safety.

If so, Isaaru reflected, he'd brought Maroda and Pacce to a safe haven after all. He hoped it was so.

"Clean at last, are you?" Zuke was kneeling beside Pacce's makeshift bed – it was too late in the evening to track down a proper cradle for the baby, so an empty chest lined with blankets would have to do for the night. Pacce didn't seem to care; the baby was drowsing, one tiny hand wrapped around one of Zuke's fingers. "The healer just left," Zuke said, as Isaaru joined him at Pacce's side. "She says Pacce is perfectly healthy. You'd never guess he spent a hard day on the road."

That would be thanks to Maroda's potions, I expect. Isaaru smiled, stroking the baby's fine dark hair; for an infant, Pacce had proven to be a sturdy little thing. "And Maroda?" The first thing he'd done upon arriving in Zuke's home was to demand that Maroda be taken to a healer.

The acolyte sighed, pulling his finger free of Pacce's tired grip and sitting back. "The boy's ankle will mend, but the healer wants to keep him in her care for a day or two. There's an infection she wishes to see eliminated before turning him loose." Zuke frowned. "She was surprised he'd managed to walk so far."

"Maroda is full of surprises," Isaaru said, his tone mild despite his concern – so Maroda was ill, then, and it was likely in no small part thanks to him. A long day of walking on an injured ankle…

As though reading his mind, Zuke rested a hand on Isaaru's shoulder. "If you'd left him behind, he'd be dead or worse." He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "He's in good hands now. He wouldn't be with the healer now if you hadn't brought him along. This was the will of Yevon; you made the right choice."

"It was never a choice." I couldn't leave them behind. Neither of them.

"It is always a choice." Zuke rose, pacing across the room. He stood before the only decoration on the large room's barren walls: a map of Spira, with Yevon's sigils marking the locations of the temples a summoner must visit on their pilgrimage. The acolyte gestured to the grand map. "Everything we do is a choice. To become a summoner: a choice. To embark on a pilgrimage: a choice. To give our lives in the defense of Spira: a choice." Zuke nodded at Isaaru and Pacce. "To save the lives of two children…"

Isaaru shook his head. "It wasn't a choice. I did what I had to do."

"But the choice was there," Zuke insisted gently. "To save your own life and leave them to their fates, or to save them and bring them here. You chose, Isaaru."

"I couldn't leave them." Isaaru looked down at Pacce, recalling the image of the baby shielded in his dead mother's arms. And Maroda, struggling to climb out of a cellar with a shattered ankle. How could he leave them? How could anyone leave them? "If a life can be saved –"

"Another choice, then." The acolyte's eyes gleamed. "The choice to not only deliver them safe from harm, but to bind your fate to theirs, as well. Here, too, would you argue you had no choice?"

The boy swallowed, not looking up. "They are my brothers."

"Today, perhaps. Were they your brothers yesterday?" When Isaaru remained silent, Zuke nodded. "As I thought. An interesting decision, for one who hopes to become a summoner. Why did you do it?"

Why had he done it? Isaaru closed his eyes, suddenly feeling all of the day's exhaustion settling on his shoulders at once. Why had he done it…? In the moment, it had seemed the most natural decision in the world. But he'd planned to find the children new homes and families within Bevelle, hadn't he; hadn't that been his original plan? And didn't that make so much more sense? Claiming them as his brothers – as Zuke said, binding their fates to his own – would only cause more pain in the long run, after all, and they would only be left alone again when he began his pilgrimage. Better, kinder, to make a clean break of it now and never see either of the boys again. Pacce would certainly never miss him; no, at best, he'd be something for Pacce to brag about as he grew older: I was brought to Bevelle by High Summoner Isaaru, before he brought the Calm.

Maroda, though…

Maroda.

I'm not leaving you behind, Isaaru had promised, but for that briefest of seconds in the woods, when the fiend was preparing to strike… for a half a second, Maroda had prepared to be abandoned. He'd been expecting it.

Perhaps that was why.

"I don't know." He opened his eyes, looking up at Zuke wearily. "I made a choice."

"So you did." Zuke nodded, returning to sit beside his young houseguest. "A choice I pray you may find no cause to regret. Forgive me. I don't mean to torment you."

Isaaru shook his head. "No, you're right to ask."

"Then perhaps I might ask something else." When Isaaru glanced at him, curious, Zuke gazed steadily into his eyes. "I ask that you delay your training. Only for a year, or perhaps two."

The boy frowned. "You think I'm too young."

"You are young," Zuke pointed out, stifling a brief smile. "But there have been young summoners before. None have succeeded in reaching Zanarkand – but there were those who came very close. No, for your age, I'd merely advise caution. It's for your brothers I suggest delaying."

"My brothers?" The word still felt foreign; Isaaru had never before had siblings. "I don't take your meaning."

Patiently, the young acolyte explained. "Their home has been destroyed, so you brought them here, to a new home. There has been no time, I suspect, to properly accept the loss of the old home. I doubt Maroda has even begun to mourn for the family he's lost. Have you, for that matter?" Isaaru remained silent. Zuke nodded. "And the first thing you did upon arriving in Bevelle was to establish yourself as Maroda's new family. Whether you understand why or not, you made that choice."

"It was the second village he'd fled from," Isaaru said quietly, recalling Maroda's story. "His sister, his parents, two homes… Sin took them all."

"And you're asking him to accept, so soon, that Sin will one day take the life of his new brother, as well."

"So that it might be the last thing Sin takes from him," Isaaru protested, barely keeping himself from shouting; it wouldn't help to wake Pacce.

Zuke remained unperturbed, watching him calmly. "The Calm in exchange for the loss of everything he knows or cares about? That seems a bitter trade, Isaaru." He sighed, rising to his feet. "I don't ask that you make any decisions tonight. You've had a difficult day, and you need rest – only think about it. Consider it."

I made my decision years ago. "I'll consider your counsel." Isaaru yawned, standing. Zuke was right about one thing: he did need rest. Had it only been that morning the three of them had set out from the ruined village…? It seemed like that had been days ago. Years. Isaaru followed Zuke to a guest room: the idea of a home being large enough for a guest room was bewildering. "I should thank you for your hospitality," Isaaru realized, mortified that it had taken him so long to do so. "And on such short notice…"

"I'd been waiting for something like this." Zuke chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling merrily. "You're my punishment, you see."

"Punishment…?"

Zuke nodded. "For choosing to live alone, rather than with the other acolytes. I've always enjoyed my privacy, after all, and once I begin my apprenticeship as a summoner… well. The peace and quiet will be welcome."

"And now you're saddled with three guests."

"Not quite so harsh a punishment as was perhaps intended." Zuke glanced toward the main room, where Pacce had yet to make even the slightest noise. "I expect the high priest meant for little Pacce to be a squalling brat, at the very least, to properly ruin my peace and quiet. He's a prickly man, our high priest, and one treads carefully around his pride." He lifted an eyebrow, returning his attention to Isaaru. "He banished a young monk for refusing his daughter's hand in marriage."

Isaaru's attention sharpened. "Sir Auron. Lord Braska's guardian." He'd heard stories about Lord Braska's unusual apprenticeship and even more unusual pilgrimage; the man's devotion demanded admiration.

"So you know of Lord Braska?" That seemed to surprise the acolyte. "He's from Bevelle, you know, and reaching the end of his pilgrimage very soon."

"Truly?"

"They say he began climbing Mount Gagazet only yesterday." Zuke folded his hands in the sleeves of his robes. "There are those who say that even if he reaches Zanarkand, he'll be denied the Final Aeon for his transgressions."

Transgressions? Isaaru fumed. "He wed an Al Bhed woman. Has he not obeyed the teachings in all else? The fayth in the temples saw fit to grant him their aeons; why should Zanarkand be any different?"

"The teachings of Yevon must be upheld."

"Of course." Out of habit, Isaaru performed Yevon's prayer, but it didn't calm him. "But Lord Braska could defeat Sin, no? If he does, is his Calm any less valuable because he delivered it? A Calm brought by any summoner is a Calm worth having!"

Zuke smiled, resting a hand on Isaaru's shoulder. "Peace. I agree with you, as it happens. I knew Braska for a short time, and though he may not have been the most faithful servant of Yevon, he's a good man. If the fayth in Zanarkand sees fit to grant him the Final Aeon, I would have no argument against him, nor would I begrudge him the title of High Summoner – but you didn't hear that from me. Now. Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll check in on young Maroda, and I'll see about giving you a proper tour of the city."

. . .

What struck him most about Bevelle was how quiet the city was – even the village had been full of the small, casual noises of people going about their daily lives. Bevelle was a city of silence. The only sound came from the water in the canals lapping against the stone walkways, but even that sound had an odd hush to it, as if the water itself was whispering, afraid to break the silence. The streets weren't empty: there were people making their way to shops, to the temple, to their homes, to the market, and a few people sat on benches and conducted quiet conversations… but none of it seemed any louder than the whispering water.

"Is it always so quiet?" Isaaru kept his voice down, thankful that Pacce didn't seem eager to cry today; the baby was happily murmuring to himself, evidently fascinated by his own hands. "It's peaceful, I suppose, but…"

Zuke nodded. "Unnerving? Yes, it does take a little getting used to, doesn't it?"

"Unnerving is a good word for it."

"This is a quiet part of town. Things get a bit noisier near the temple." Zuke gestured discreetly toward a warrior monk on patrol. "And even more so near the monks' training grounds. Now there you'll find a racket." He grimaced. "The acolytes' housing is near the training grounds. Do you know they train into the early hours of the morning? I don't know how the others sleep."

Isaaru smiled. "I see why you moved."

"I told the priests it was to facilitate my apprenticeship as a summoner. I'll thank you not to tell them otherwise."

By then they'd reached the healer's clinic: a small building, with space enough for three rooms. The healer herself was a short, plump, red-haired middle-aged woman with a sharp tongue but a kind smile; she fussed over Isaaru a moment, scolding him for not allowing her to check him over, no matter how hard he tried to explain that he hadn't been injured.

"A toss into the ocean and an entire day spend trudging to and through the Macalania Woods?" The healer scoffed. "For all you know, you're twisted about by Sin's toxin. Are you certain you know who you are? Where you came from?"

Laughing, Zuke came to his rescue, stepping between him and the determined healer. "He seems right-headed enough to me, Varra. Let the boy see his brother, won't you?" After one last scrutinizing frown, the healer nodded, leading the way into one of the small examination rooms.

If he was as ill as Zuke had suggested the night before, Maroda showed no sign of it today; he sat up quickly when Isaaru came in, looking bright-eyed and restless as only a twelve-year-old boy could. His ankle certainly looked healed – the swelling and bruising had vanished. Maroda looked around at all of them, hopeful. "Can I leave now?"

"Absolutely not," Varra declared, folding her arms and drawing herself to her full daunting height, which still left her a bit shorter than Maroda himself. "You're to stay in that bed and rest until I tell you otherwise, young man."

Maroda appealed to Isaaru, instead. "I can walk! I haven't had a fever since this morning and my ankle's fine." To demonstrate, he slid out of bed and hopped up and down a few times, then stood on the leg that had been injured. "See?"

"He does seem to be healed," Isaaru pointed out.

It was the wrong thing to say, evidently. Varra huffed, glaring first at Maroda, then at Isaaru. "And are you a healer, then, young man? The boy couldn't stand straight when the monks brought him in, and he spent all the night locked in fever dreams, but no, surely you know best." She jabbed Isaaru in the chest with an accusing finger. "You, who walked the boy all the way through the Macalania Woods! A summoner indeed, I've never known a summoner who wasn't thick-headed and stubborn –"

"Varra!" Zuke cut in again, smiling. "I'll have you know they train us to be thick-headed and stubborn. It helps." He placed a hand on Maroda's shoulder. "Now be honest, Varra – is there any reason the boy can't spend the rest of his recovery at my house with his brothers?" A little jolt went through Maroda's body at the word brothers, and he bit his lip, glancing up at Isaaru.

The healer sighed, considering the boy for a moment. "He's through the worst of it, I think." She sighed, throwing up her hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, but if there's so much as a touch of fever, you come to me. Immediately, you understand that, Zuke?"

"Absolutely." Zuke bowed to the woman. "Thank you for your efforts, Varra."

Maroda cleared his throat, looking around. "Would it be okay if…" He took a deep breath. "I'd like to have a word with Isaaru before we leave. Alone," he added.

. . .

"He still looks healthy," Varra concluded, tickling Pacce gently. The baby giggled, wiggling and flailing his small arms; the healer smiled. "Poor thing, orphaned so young…" She looked toward the door of the examination room; she and Zuke had been exiled while Isaaru and Maroda spoke. "All of them, really. And the older boy's to be a summoner?"

Zuke nodded. "It's what he wishes. I'm trying to convince him to delay his training."

"Try as hard as you can." The healer handed Pacce back to Zuke, frowning thoughtfully. "Maroda had nightmares all night, you know. From the fever, perhaps, but…" She shook her head. "Zuke, he's survived at least two of Sin's attacks. I suspect he relived them both last night."

"He's been through much, for one so young."

"And survived it, Yevon be praised." She nodded. "But he cried out his parents' names in the night – his parents' names, and Isaaru's." Varra's eyes darkened. "If he means to become a summoner…"

"It is for his brothers' sake I'm trying to convince him to delay," Zuke said. "For that very reason. They've lost enough already."

. . .

There was an anxiety rising in Maroda now that they were finally alone; he'd been thinking about the right things to say since that moment in the temple last night, the moment when Isaaru called them brothers. But now it was hard to say it, to actually say it, but if he didn't ask, the question would fester in his mind until it drove him crazy.

Isaaru sat on the bed beside him, watching him patiently. There was a deep well of patience in Isaaru, Maroda was beginning to understand, and he suspected the older boy might be willing to wait forever to find out what it was he wanted to say.

It might've been easier if he'd just demanded to know.

Maroda swallowed, staring at his feet dangling from the bed. "Last night at the temple, when the priest asked about Pacce and me, you said…" He cleared his throat. "You said we were brothers."

Isaaru nodded, still watching, watching. "I did."

So that part hadn't been some wild dream brought on by the fever, then. Maroda let himself feel the first small bursts of hope. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to look up, forcing himself to meet Isaaru's eyes.

"Are we?"

Isaaru smiled, shrugging. "Would you like to be?"

Maroda thought about it – about how Isaaru hadn't let him fall back into the cellar, about how Isaaru wouldn't leave him behind in the village, about how Isaaru kept taking breaks on the road for his sake. About Isaaru holding him while he cried, about Isaaru putting himself between him and the fiend in the woods, about Isaaru calling them brothers there in the temple for all of Yevon's priesthood to hear.

Yes.

He nodded, a slow, shy smile spreading across his face. Isaaru wrapped an arm over his shoulders. "Then of course we are," the older boy said. "We're brothers."