He had run. He had nothing else to do with the intensity of grief that had built under his skin, threatening to burst. He had to do something with it. There was no where to cry where she wouldn't hear or someone undesired would see. There was no where to vent his anger aside from himself; The Behemoth lay slain, as did most of the Raiders. There was fire, agony, grief, anger, remorse, deep impatience, and the wellspring of self-blame simmering in him, and there was nothing else to do with it but to run, and expel it in the most private way possible.
Even Ebony felt the strain as he leaned forward over her neck, asking more speed of her than she had ever given. And when he arrived at the chosen location—Narcie Haven—he cast her away as he dismounted. "Go!" He told her. The bird was smart enough to understand he meant no malice. She had always seemed to be able to peer into Ignis' soul, and now was not in any way an exception. She could sense his pain. So at his word, she lit off into the distance, leaving him alone.
Ignis began to pace, first just to work off energy, and then as his thoughts and feelings began to well into physical pain, he clutched his hands to his head in frustration. He made a fist, balling his hair within his knuckles. And he paced, paced. He felt he was going to explode. The intensity was relentless, building and building and building, like a dam under the pressure of a surging flood. All he could hear were the doctor's words echoing, 'It's the price we pay for the eternal dark.' He spun on his heel and let out a few frustrated grunting exclamations, willing the pain from his throat. There was, however, no relief.
The price shouldn't be this high! Hadn't they suffered enough for a lifetime? Now he had lost his child, and Leya!—Poor Leya! She could not even speak, shattered so deeply to the core. He groaned aloud in agony as he recalled the sound of her wailing grief. Of all the things she had suffered, this one had been the one that had finally crushed her gentle and cheerful soul. And what had he done to prevent it? He was supposed to protect her from such agony! Where was he when she sat up lonely nights and fretted about whether he was forgetting her? What had she thought when he left before she could tell him she was carrying his child? Where was he when the raiders invaded his home, frightening his daughter out of her wits, killing his child, extinguishing his wife's soul? He had been where everyone was—clinging with dear life to the hope of the approaching dawn.
The pressure was simply too much; It inflicted torture that he couldn't hold against any longer. He spun on his heel and looked up to the sky, shouting with all his might. "Where are you?!" He was vaguely aware of the rolling heat from his body as he shouted to the heavens, quaking with the emotional strain of all that had occurred. "Why? Why!? You're supposed to be here by now! Where are you?!" And with that, he collapsed to his knees, beating his thigh with his fist. Tears dissolved into a hiss of steam. "Why?"
He felt the absolute loss of hope, devoid of patience, nothing left but overwhelming grief and guilt. He had always known that one day, his choices would cost him dearly. He never suspected that the choice of serving his King would cost him something like this! It was as if someone had cut out a chunk of his heart to throw before the throne. And why should he mind, for he loved Noct dearly. Why was he wishing for his return to spare him pain, when he knew full well what his return would cost? Who was he willing to sacrifice—his King or his Bride? Up to this point, it had been Aleya. Sweet, kind, giving, loving, beautiful little Aleya. What a treasure she was! What evil he had done her when he asked her to bind her life to his! She would have been spared all this torment had she never met him.
There was no way possible to spare them both. But why should serving the king cost him so much?
"I…don't understand. I truly do not understand," he mumbled. Hearing his own voice declare his ignorance made it more real. Ignis Scientia, who had always been prone to gloat on his own cleverness, on his own extraordinary mind, truly understood nothing of any real importance. Years of leading and leaving Leya in his quest for knowledge, and he was no closer to understanding anything. All such toils amounted to absolute nothingness; In fact, it had cost him more than should ever be asked to pay. He truly did understand nothing at all.
As he sat on his knees, wallowing in grief, a chill ran over him. He heard an ethereal, delicate, yet tremendously powerful, breathy voice all about him. "The fury of the Pyreburner, with the sadness of a man," it said. "This feeling to be expected when his world is as dark as death."
He tilted his head, trying to determine where the voice was coming from, but it was everywhere and nowhere at once. Instead of feeling mystified or curious, however, he only felt fury at the interruption when he had wished to be alone. "Who are you?" He demanded. "What do you want?"
"A man denied even his grief due to the heat of his rage."
"What do you want?" He insisted, impatiently.
And then, a hand on his shoulder, so agonizingly cold to the touch that for a moment he thought his arm had been torn from his body. He gasped in pain, staggering to his feet and drawing away quickly.
"Does the flame devour the bearer?" The lovely voice breathed.
"What did you do to me?!" He held his arm limply at his side. He had gone to cradle his shoulder, but couldn't bear to touch it due to the cold. What sort of new enemy was this that could inflict such damage?
"Fury, fear, agony, impatience….these are the volatile emotions, burning with searing heat and power. But the emotions of resolve, purpose, love, and hope….these can burn as brightly, if nurtured."
Ignis suddenly understood who had confronted him, and his innermost self quelled his fear and aggression to yield to intrigue. Why would she deign to have anything to do with him? "You're the Frostbearer, Shiva. The Mistress of Ice." But how could he see her aura? Up until this point, the only blurry hazes he could make out were those of the three people attached to his soul: Aleya, Caela, and Noctis.
As if reading his mind, she answered. "Long has the Pyreburner sensed the Frostbearer; She who is both his strength and his debility."
"Pyreburner." He thought back on Aleya's discovery of his lineage, and his ability to quite literally ignite under stressful situations. "Are you saying it's true? I am a descendent of Ifrit?" It still didn't seem possible. No, he must have hit his head. He must have fallen off of Ebony on the way and was now sleeping out in the open, somewhere. Yes, that was what it must surely be. Shortly, he would wake up. Perhaps when he woke up, he would find every bit of it a mere nightmare. Perhaps the ranch would still be standing, and he could return there at once and enjoy the affections of his wife and child.
"You, Hand of the Chosen, are bestowed many blessings, and many arduous tasks. You, whose blood burns with the fire of the gods, you are charged with serving the Chosen, and protecting the line of Lucis. You bear the knowledge of the Oracle. Because of the searing heat of pain, do you now question your calling?"
The bite of ice was beginning to ease, just enough for him to be able to grasp his shoulder. What had she done to him? She spoke with the voice of the angelic, but she inflicted such agony. He didn't understand what she was trying to tell him, or even why she felt the need to speak to him. The frustration of his ineptitude was becoming catastrophically difficult to bear. All this time, he thought physical blindness was his malady. He was beginning to comprehend that his true malady was mental blindness—a lack of understanding, planning, and direction. What made it all the more difficult to accept was that such things had been his whole life's purpose, and everything he was supposed to be. He had taken pride in his sharp wit and keen intellect. It was only now that he discerned that in the most important aspects of his life purpose, he was without solid direction, groping blindly in the dark. Yes, it hurt, and yes, it made him question his calling.
"I—" Tears sprang to his eyes again. He imagined he looked a pitiable sight to the Divine: A blind man, with a crippled arm, tears rolling over his face like an offended child. He was too distraught to even feel the sting of pride or the need for self-respect. "I have failed, in all that truly matters."
"Failed?"
"Failed!" He snapped. The heat in his chest began to rise again, as if someone had blown on the charred cinders of his heart. "Insomnia is gone! The King is dead! Noct is missing! Eos is in shambles! And Leya—" His voice caught in his throat at the mere mention of her name. "Leya….Oh, the pain I've caused her…"
Shiva moved in a slow pace, thoughtfully. "Aleya Claren. Daughter of Galahd, a pauper among kings, a servant to the Pyreburner's offspring."
"She's no pauper!" He roiled at her, clenching a fist. "She's not my servant! She is….She's a jewel who no one bothered to pick from the rock." Shiva merely listened, as he went on, talking more to himself than to her. "She deserves none of this! She's so sweet, and innocent, so giving and selfless; Eager to make others happy…to make me so—so very happy! And despite her strength of character, her courageous resolve, she's so incredibly frail. No one understands her importance! Oh, gods, how I've failed her!" Ignis sat on the havenrock, letting his limp arm dangle in his lap as he ran his other hand across his face in misery.
"You have seen beyond the veil."
He sighed. Enough riddles! What was she saying? Was she confirming her importance, or his failure?
"And yet you still do not see. You have lost hope."
"Yes." He nodded. He cradled his numb hand in his able hand, running his thumb over the palm of his icy skin absent-mindedly. "I have. If Noct returns, I may lose him forever. But if he does not….I will lose everything else." He swallowed hard. "I can't choose. I can't save them both. If I protect Noct, if I warn him, the whole world may suffer. No one will find peace, and the Oracle's sacrifice will have been made in vain. But if I hand him over to his fate, the world will know the joy of daylight once more. There will be no more demons, no more shuddering at the fear of the dark. And my Aleya—she'll be safe. She'll be happy."
"Such pain this has caused you."
He didn't respond. He could feel the icy tendrils in his shoulder beginning to spread across his chest, eating at his healthy flesh. He wasn't even sure he cared.
"The fire of your passion and zeal has been thwarted by the cold reality of suffering."
He still did not reply. He was tired of being told the obvious; Tired of her trying to find a poetic twist to his plight. He wanted to be left in solitude to mourn in peace.
Suddenly, he felt a tingling in his frozen shoulder, and a blissful warmth set in, dispelling the pain. "Rise, Descendant of the Flame."
Had she cured him? Ignis rose to his feet, somehow obediently doing as he was told, despite his misgivings. He stood in her presence, mystified by her behavior.
"For the world to be freed, the Hand must clearly know and see. Therefore, I will speak to him of the truth. These secrets must be only known to him, until the world once again knows the warmth and comfort of light."
Perfect. More riddles and secrets to agitate him. More problems to bear alone. He didn't want it. He wanted to be rid of them all. Still, he couldn't reject her offer. He was drawn to her voice in a way he didn't understand. He supposed there could be some component of distant attraction, as Ifrit would have been drawn to her. It was almost as if Aleya were speaking to him—commanding his full interest and attention.
"The Pyreburner and Frostbearer have not always entwined. Once, the Pyreburner found himself craving the affections of a human girl, unknown and unseen by the world around her. The Pyreburner saw her beauty, her gentleness of spirit, and her wisdom. After gaining her mutual affection, they enjoyed the sweetest of intimacy."
It sounded so much like his relationship with Aleya. Ignis had seen no mere refugee, mopping floors of the castle to keep herself fed, serving refreshments to the elite. He had been taken in by her beauty, to be sure, but all the more so to her caring soul and spark of brilliant intellect. He had striven to win her heart, and they had become closer than any two people could ever become. One thing was lacking to the comparison. He was no divinity to be worshipped. Nevertheless, her whole life's goal seemed to be to kneel to his pleasure and purpose, with little regard to her own.
"Such a relationship was never meant to be," Shiva continued. "She was given offspring. They were aware that if the child's origin was revealed, disaster would befall it. The child would know the ire of both god and man. And so the Pyreburner sought to seal his offspring and love away in safety. He summoned the King, and proclaimed his will that he always protect his loved. Once the Fierce won the prize of the rite, he took her in. He swore to never reveal the child's origin. As for the gods, nothing could be hidden fully. The price they demanded for the child's life was a tempering of the flame—to seal away a portion of his famed power. And so it was done. Lady Scientia brought her child unto the world—a child that was part god, part man.
"Though a portion of his power was forever lost, to exist, he must retain something of what he was. He could not survive stripped of his father's code. And therefore, every male carried the dominance of the divine, resembling their forefather in both appearance and power."
It was a fascinating tale, and his own origin story. At any other time, Ignis would have been awestruck. He would have been delighted to pay rapt attention. Now, he felt impatience. None of this mattered! It wasn't the past he was concerned with; It was the present, the future.
"Therefore, all males born unto the line of the Pyreburner had natural affinity towards magic, and found fire an effortless acquisition. There were those that became more powerful than those that came before them. I've seen none with your ability." She nodded with a soft smile. "As for House Scientia, the lady vowed to serve the king who protected her, and swore her family would always bestow such equal protection upon the King, for as long as his line existed. House Scientia became the permanent defenders of the Line of Lucis."
And so there it was. He was a descendant of a god. He had learned how the Scientian household had been avowed to serve the royal house, and how he fell into serving at Noct's right hand. It hardly seemed real. His mind whirled. Was this why he survived the Ring of the Lucii? Was this why his anger appeared as a burning flame? Was this the reason the tomb of Kings opened to him when he was neither the chosen or had no key? Was it even the ring that unlocked his dormant power, or was it the overwhelming fear of potentially failing Noct—his whole reason for being? If he had accomplished all these things, was there anything beyond his reach?
He had no time to think, for the Frostbearer was not done with her surprising revelations. "Generations after the birth of Incendo Scientia, twins were born into the royal line. Before taking power, the Queen sought the desires of her heart. She was in love with the gentleness of water. She and her twin founded the nation of Galahd, and their people grew to love them. One in particular, received her affection. He was merely a pauper. As was the case with Incendo, the offspring of fire, she knew that she too must conceal any knowledge of their offspring."
"Aleystina. You're speaking of Aleystina Lucis Caelum."
"Indeed. She went into hiding with her lover, until the child could be born. She left it in the care of her beloved, and returned with a broken heart to ascend to the throne of Lucis."
He knew where the tale was going. He drew in a breath sharply. "You're not actually saying…?"
"The woman you hold within your heart, the woman you are drawn to protect, is of the line of Kings."
His knees threatened to buckle. He swayed slightly in his stunned state. Aleya had royal blood? Was he truly wed to a descendant of the throne? His Aleya. She, whom the haughty Lucians had frowned upon and thought her so far beneath them; They who tortured her with their suspicion and gossip. Had they only known she was part royal!
"Therefore, the choice is simple. Who to protect? Who to serve? There is no choosing. With your power, you may serve and protect both. Indeed, it is your calling. For this purpose, your predecessors existed, and for this exquisite agony, your heart burns with the Infernian's flame. There is no confusion. You will serve both; Your Chosen King, and your Concealed Queen."
Something in her phrasing raised his ire. "Are you saying I love her simply because of her lineage? That it's beyond my control? I refuse to believe such a thing!" No, he wouldn't believe it at all. They had been thrown together by chance, and his passion for her wasn't a cold blueprint of genetics. He had loved her for everything he thought she was: A refugee, a shining gem covered in the cruel dust and dark of the world around her, a beauty only he could truly see, a woman that personified kindness, courage, vulnerability, innocence, and passion. Her faults, imperfections, strengths, and weaknesses—he loved them all. He wouldn't have cared if her ancestors had been sabertusks. He would have loved her no matter who she may have been. He refused to believe even a speck of his personal choice had been altered by instincts beyond his control.
"Love and purpose are always intertwined. However, the Flame's Son has a heart of his own. His desire is distinctive from his duty. Now that his heart knows the truth, he understands his power—and his responsibility. The heat of his purpose burns stronger."
He stood quietly, contemplating her words.
She smiled at him. "Indeed, the girl keeps those flames alight."
How true it was! How many times had she encouraged him to move when he had stalled? How often had she insisted he keep pace with his purpose, even when his absence brought her distress?
A sudden thought occurred to him, and gripped his heart with the clench of fear. "Ardyn! He has declared war on the line of Lucis! He attacked her before. Does he know?"
"Her origins have long been concealed. Only the Frostbearer knows her identity with certainty. Furthermore, these words that the Frostbearer speaks have been sealed, and protected from intrusion. The words she speaks is for the ears of the Pyreburner's descendant, and him alone. It is yet another burden he must bear until the King fulfills his calling. Only in his silence will the flames of his heart be safe."
His mind raced, processing all he had been told with impressive speed. His blood had given him the power of fire, and possibly the ability to bypass the blood of the Lucii, to some extent. He also was of House Scientia, sworn to serve the royal house. If a soul was born of that line, House Scientia would serve without question—not by blood, but by choice. Satisfaction came from serving those that meant so much to them, and their loyalty was unwavering. Therefore, his choice was indeed to protect both Noctis and Aleya. And he now knew he had the power to do just that. No more would he have to tear his heart in half and serve only one in the whole.
"And now he discerns the possibilities of the future. And what is more: The blood of a god and of the royal—what power their progeny might hold!"
Progeny. The word brought back a fresh surge of regret and grief. The pain stung as if someone had impaled him. "But I've failed," he murmured low. "I failed them all. My King, My Girl, and my…my child." Rain began to fall. How appropriate.
A hand fell to his heart, but this time, it was physical and nearly mortal, devoid of the icy power she wielded. She had taken the form of Gentiana. Her voice changed into something warm, rich, and solid. "Even the gods cannot escape pain. This I know well."
He covered her hand with his own in wonder.
"Mortals have the ability to heal from such pain, by taking comfort and pleasure in each other." She leaned further into his chest, driving home the point. "The girl—take your fill of pleasure and comfort. Give her the fire of your resolve. In this way, the mortal soul will heal. Drink in your hope and purpose."
"Gen—Gentiana…"
"As you were blessed with the power of the divine, you are also cursed with the imperfection of mortality. But what good is accomplished by looking behind? You cannot control all. You struggle, you fall, you fail. This cannot be changed. But hope and love—these are the true power of mortals. With these things, and the knowledge you have gained, you will not fail. As His Hand and Her Heart, you will no longer falter."
He pressed her hand deeply into his chest. He had needed those words from someone, anyone. He was so incredibly thankful. "Thank you," he breathed.
She slowly drew her hand away, and her voice once again became celestial. "As the Frostbearer is sworn to the Oracle, and the Oracle is sworn to the King, she will provide the support you require." She gave a slight laugh of pleasure at the thought, and then blew a small blizzard breath over him, frosting his hair slightly. Was it the divine's version of a blown kiss? "The road will be long. But you now clearly see the destination."
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Go forth, with the blessing of both the Pyreburner and the Frostbearer."
And then, light! So intensely powerful, that it caused him physical pain. He hadn't seen real light in half a decade. It was overwhelming. He fell to one knee, ripping off his glasses and shielding his eyes with his hand. And as swiftly as the moment came, it was gone. He stood slowly, once again surrounded by the dark. However, something had changed; he knew that to be certain.
For a moment, he simply stood quietly in the rain. It began to pour with unceasing fury. He hardly felt it at all. The past, the present and the future all came together in sharp focus. It was clear as crystal, real and solid. He held out an experimental hand and ignited the tips of his fingers with interest. Yes, he now could effortlessly wield such power. What was more, now he could even see it. He clenched his fist, smothering the flame.
He was Ignis Stupeo Scientia, and there was now no longer anything beyond his reach.
Aleya had scarcely moved at all. That's what he was told. She had refused food and water. She simply stared, nearly unblinking. Not a word had been spoken, though Iris informed him she had caught her crying on occasion, but she had only done so when she thought no one else around to hear.
Iris wasn't sure how he would respond when he heard the details of his wife's mental state. He stood quietly, thoughtfully, as she finished reporting. "Ignis?" She reached out and touched his arm hesitantly. "Are you okay?"
"Specs." Gladio put a hand on his opposite shoulder.
His heart was warmed by the support of his two dear friends. But after his meeting with the Glacian, there was no need for encouragement. He no longer felt helpless at the situation. "Thank you for informing me," he told them. "I'm going to check in on her."
As he went for the door, Gladio moved towards him. "Look, Iggy, she hasn't said a single word since she got here. She's taking the news really hard. Don't be upset if she doesn't say anything to you."
"She doesn't have to," Ignis assured him, and stepped through the door, closing it behind him.
He stood in the dark for a moment, seeing only the hazy blur that was his beloved. He could hear her short breaths as she lay there, motionless, still curled into the same position he had left her in. She was broken, that much was clear. He would have done anything to spare her such pain. Since that was no longer possible, he would do everything he could to save her from it. Wordlessly, he approached. As he neared, her breaths grew more rapid and shallow. She knew it was him. Even if she hadn't heard him outside the door, she recognized his footsteps by now. It was agonizing to him that the closer he came to her, the more she was driven to anxiety.
He didn't speak as he placed his knee on the bed and crawled over to her. He heard one short sob, and hesitated. She didn't want to face him. She felt as much guilt over all that had occurred as he. For this reason, he knew his mere presence caused her pain. He didn't want such a thing. However, he knew it was imperative that he assure her; That she understand he did not hold her accountable. She had to know that he loved her now more than he ever had. And so, with no further pondering, he lay down behind her, enclosing her in his arms. "Leya," he whispered in her ear. She had frozen at his touch, stiff with dread. "My brave girl," he whispered, kissing her cheek before settling in. His left arm slid under her head and neck, and his hand removed the knuckle between her teeth to hold her hand in his. His right arm slid over her torso, under her right arm. He placed his palm flat between her breast and throat. He could feel the soft thrum of her heartbeat; Her breathing beginning to stutter. Then he whispered in confident assurance, "I love you so very much."
That's when it happened. The wellspring of emotion finally broke the façade of her expressionless, lifeless exterior. She began crying hysterically. She cried until she had soaked his sleeve, until her head ached, until he broke down with her, and long after. She all the while gripped his one hand furiously, and covered her face in shame with her other. He helped her breathe; raising his chest to encourage her to inhale, and pressing gently for her to exhale. He occasionally gave a kiss to reassure her. The pain they both felt was deep, raw, and exhausting. She finally fell into an impoverished sleep in his arms.
She had never said a word, and he had never expected her to. He lay there, holding her to his chest, contemplating every memorable moment from the time they ran into each other in the library until now. He thought of who she was: A refugee from Galahd, the scholar, the lost daughter of Lucis, the surrogate sister to Noct, the keeper of his heart, the mother of his child. He finally moved his hand from her chest and swept her hair away from her feverish face. He set his lips to her scalp. In the last twenty-four hours, he had heard her expel every concept of pain imaginable, and it had horrified him. But he now knew it was within his power to keep such nightmarish events from her. "You'll never know such pain again. I swear it."
[Direct Journal Entry]:
22nd of March, M.E. 762
I have officially disowned my heartless mother. Indeed, this is the last time I shall confirm any relationship to that woman at all. Nothing more needs to be said on the subject. Though I carry her blood—and I cannot change it—I refuse today or any other day hereafter to be known as her son.
Some sins simply cannot be forgiven. I nearly lost everything today.
It had taken a lot of time, a great deal of patience, and much loving care, but Ignis was finally able to convince his grieving wife to eat a bit here and there. Unfortunately, however, it was sporadic and very little. He found her wasting away in her depressed state. He was beginning to consider an intravenous infusion of nutrition, should she not take something in soon. She could scarcely stand on her own two feet over the last several days, and shook with the effort of even making normal movements.
She had been completely mute since the accident. She hadn't cried since the evening he returned from his meeting with Shiva. Still, her eyes would occasionally well up, especially when he paid her attention. He knew his presence was causing her pain. It simply couldn't be helped. He refused to leave her side until she recovered. And even in this state, she was a comfort to him after such a grievous loss. They needed each other to survive the ordeal, it was as simple as that.
As to her physical health, the doctor had informed Ignis that her external wounds had healed entirely, and he had suspicions that her internal wounds were no longer a danger, either. But he reminded him again that after such a wound, her ability to reproduce might have been affected. Ignis didn't care, but he dared not tell her a word. It would have been too much to handle at the moment. He begged the doctor to keep it to himself until her mental state improved, and Doctor Eiler agreed. He was very fond of Aleya, himself, and knew well what trauma she had been through.
Caela was confused about her mother and father's state, but Iris kept her entertained during the day, and Wiz kept her in the evenings. She would come for an occasional visit, but those visits were short.
He felt for a while he wasn't making any progress at all. He was tending to her injuries, trying his best to soothe her soul, but she was withdrawn and distant. This evening, though, she surprised him.
He had knelt beside her, offering her fish soup—one of her favorites, superbly healthy, and something he had worked very hard to perfect for her. He hoped it would stimulate her appetite. He grew discouraged when she gently pushed his hand away as he offered it. He sighed. Almost two weeks of this, and he was beginning to fear she'd never be the Aleya he remembered. He was frustrated, but he refused to show it. He had been frustrated with Noct all those years ago, after the Marilith incident, but that had turned out well. He was determined this would turn out equally so.
He set the soup down in front of her, regardless of her protest, and took her hand. "I know it's hard," he told her. "And I know you'd rather starve yourself to death to be rid of all this torment. I'm sorry to be selfish, Aleya, truly I am. But I will not allow it. Eventually you'll faint from hunger, and I'll force nutrition upon you. If you refuse to speak, I'll tire you with my chatter. If you're waiting for me to turn my back so you can expend your emotion, you might as well expend now. I'm not letting you leave my presence until you're better. And it will take time, but you will be better, I promise." He rose and kissed her forehead. "Forgive me. I know you're suffering, and you wish me gone. But I can't bear to let you go." He paused with a yearning, empathetic expression.
And with that, he turned and walked to Iris' make-shift kitchen to clean up the dishes. They didn't have a room of their own anymore in Lestallum. It had long ago been leased to another needy couple. Thankfully, Iris had taken up with Monica while they stayed in her place. He would have to thank Iris profusely for always being at his beckon call. He knew it must be inconvenient for her.
As he worked, he tried not to do the mental math about how many days it had been, when her last meal was and how much she had consumed, when he could get sleep without worrying about her sneaking off in the night. Was it going to be like this forever? She was practically an invalid. He had to lead her about, force-feed her. He didn't mind putting in the effort, but for his sake and hers, he hoped upon all hope the tide would turn soon.
And then, a miracle.
He felt a small hand on his back. His head went up and he turned slightly in surprise. "Leya! What is it?"
Her mouth worked for a few moments before she managed to finally say his name. "Ig…Ignis."
He was so excited he nearly grabbed her up and spun her in delight. He forced himself to retain his composure. His joy left him when she gave him back the full bowl of soup. He viewed it as another rejection of a meal he had made especially for her. He retrieved it glumly, but just then she said, "Can—Can I—Can I have more pepper?"
He thought his heart would stop. Those were the most beautiful eight words he had ever heard in his life. He almost dropped the bowl in surprise. "Of course, Love! One moment." It didn't bother him at all that he thought he had perfected the soup, but it still needed more pepper. None of that mattered at all. He felt like whistling as he reached for the spices. But as he did so, she put her arms around him and set her head to his chest.
Another shock, and he put down the bowl of soup quickly before there was a terrible mess in Iris' apartment. He reciprocated, hugging her up closely. She shifted her head to rest closer to his shoulder.
It had been so long. This position they were in—it had been so common before—but he thought he had lost it forever. His heart pounded with joy as he held her, savoring every speck of the moment.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, and hid her face in his shirt.
He put a hand to her back, setting his teeth to keep his own emotions seemingly stable. It had been a much longer road than he had expected, but Aleya was coming back to him. She was making the first step to becoming herself again. "Oh, My Girl," he told her, patting her back. "My Own Girl! How I've missed that beautiful voice of yours!" She tried to suppress a sob, diving deeper into his chest. He simply held her with a soft smile. "It's alright, my love. Everything will be alright."
After that particular break-through, after a pleasant meal of fish soup with extra pepper, and a hot shower, he offered to take her for a walk. He wanted her to have 'fresh' air, although Lestallum was now anything but fresh. A walk or a jog had always been their favorite thing to do together, and he thought it might aid with the mending. To his surprise, she agreed, although she did so non-verbally. She simply nodded her head. She still wasn't up to speaking to him much. It would have bothered him normally, but after a few words and a bowl of soup, he was feeling overwhelmingly cheerful and optimistic. It was as if the clouds had parted and the day was breaking in.
They walked hand-in-hand together in silence for a while around the city of refuge and light. Iris saw them as they passed, and briefly clenched Ignis' elbow tightly to congratulate him on his success. Next, they ran into the Marshal. It was good of him to speak to her, to tell her it was good to see her out and about. She never met his eye, but he didn't seem bothered by it.
The crowds became a bit thicker near the old market area. Wishing not to overwhelm her on her first expedition outside, he decided it was best to turn back. But as he turned around, he felt Aleya's hand tug sharply in synchrony with what sounded like a mild collision of bodies. Aleya grabbed his jacket, managing to get her balance back before she fell altogether. Someone or something had definitely slammed into her. Ignis' first thought was for Aleya, who had only recently recovered from an injury that had nearly stolen her life. He pulled her close to him to protect her from further incident. "I'm so sorry, Leya, are you hurt?" He cursed himself for not knowing it had been coming. With the noise of the plant and the dozens of voices swirling about them, he had failed to hear the footsteps within their proximity. He touched her chin, and felt it bob up and down in an affirmative. "Good. Stay close to me, now."
He extended a hand to whomever had hit her, as they were still on the ground.
The other slapped his hand away in a fury. "I thought you were the blind one!" The voice snapped. "Clumsy girl!"
He took in a sharp breath through his nose. He recognized her voice immediately. Mother Dearest had apparently settled in Lestallum. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought she had, before. Of course she would be here. She had no choice, as there weren't any other places to take refuge. "Suit yourself," he told her flatly, withdrawing his hand and allowing her to stagger to her feet.
"Do all Galahdian females have such natural grace?" She spat back, irritably.
His nostrils flared in his anger. This wasn't the time or place for such insults! He grasped Aleya tighter. "You charged into her. For the second time, if I'm not mistaken." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "And yet you've not apologized."
"She should watch where she's going."
"You should mind your manners." He felt Aleya move away slightly and tug at his hand. He took her under his arm and stood his ground. He was ready for a fight, if his mother truly wanted one. He had several days' worth of grief and remorse built up, and he nearly ached for a good excuse to spill his darker emotions. He could have cracked even under the best of circumstances. He certainly was prone to do so when someone was attacking his wife while she was under such strain.
"Maybe you should mind yours! Weren't you taught better?"
"You'd hardly know, as you weren't responsible nor present for my education." He felt Aleya curl her fingers into his side, tugging at his shirt.
"Perhaps you've had bad influences." Her eyes shifted to Aleya.
Ignis couldn't see it, of course. But Aleya did, and she stared back with a remarkably blank expression. She wasn't trying to challenge his mother in any way, she was simply numb to any anger Ms. Claustra might be trying to rile in her.
"Thank you for your input," Ignis sighed in frustration. "We'll be going, now."
As they were turning to walk away, she rallied with another insult. "What did you do, dear? Wait until he lost his eyesight to make your move? If he could only see how you've wasted yourself since Galdin Quay. Pale, sickly, skinny thing! You look positively savage! Scientia men pursue beautiful women."
Ignis whirled on her angrily. "Except for father, of course!"
Aleya pulled at his hand again with urgency.
"That's a fine thing to say to your mother! Have you learned to be so insulting?"
"Why not?" He countered hotly. "You've learned to spew your vile rot at the sweetest woman in the world!"
"I must commend you, my dear," She said, ignoring Ignis and looking at Aleya again. "You've got him eating out of the palm of your hand. You haven't even had to speak one word to defend yourself."
Ignis pushed Aleya behind him as if he were protecting her from an oncoming projectile. Of course she wasn't speaking to her! She could hardly speak to him! She was severely traumatized, and his hateful mother was doing nothing but making it worse. "That's enough!" He shouted at her. "Be on your way!"
She laughed at Aleya, watching her back away miserably from behind him. "Really now-tears? Don't tell me you're that weak! You'll have to develop thicker skin if you want to be mated to a court official."
"Stop speaking to her! I'm warning you!"
"Mark my words; He'll regret it one day, if he doesn't already."
"I said stop!" Ignis shouted, moving towards her. If he had to toss her out of the market himself, he wasn't going to tolerate anymore.
"You'll make a clumsy mistake one day. He'll never be able to forgive you, and he'll regret knowing you the rest of his life."
Aleya's eyes went wide for a moment at her words. If anyone had noticed her expression, they would have thought Ms. Claustra was threatening her with a gun.
Ignis was beyond furious. He grabbed her arm; a hand full of silken luxury furs. "Shut your mouth!" He growled through clenched teeth. "Honestly, if you were a man, I'd have killed you by now! You'll show her no further disrespect!" He gave her a slight shake. "She's my wife, and the mother of my child!"
"You have children together?" She replied, snarkily. "That's a disaster waiting to happen! I'd bet she's anything but a capable mother."
That was the last bit of force needed, and Aleya broke. She let out a loud wailing sob before turning and running away through the crowd.
Ignis turned to her retreating footsteps. His heart punched in his chest. He knew what she was thinking, and why she had run. The only time he had ever felt such anger was when Alvor had attacked her. What his mother had done was unforgiveable.
"You're a miserable excuse for a human being!" Ignis shouted at her, balling his fists. "And you are no mother of mine!" With that, he left her alone and went on a frantic search for his wife. For in her state of mind, who knew what crazy thing she would do?