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How does one go about writing letters to a friend whose soul is stranded in another world? For whom three years have passed while hardly weeks have passed for her? What does she say? Surely they have bigger concerns than an old comrade stuck in a plain old war. Compared to the fate of two worlds, what is a battle for a single country?
-What is an old comrade?-
“Stare any harder at that paper and it’ll explode. Unless that’s what you want, in which case, I’ll have to beg you to teach me your tricks.”
She flinches and sends Jessie a helpless look. “They said I might be able to send a message to my friends, but I don’t know what to write,” she despairs dramatically, dropping her upper body onto her desk with a groan. “Tataru said that she isn’t sure how or when they’ll get another message, but that it wouldn’t hurt to have a letter prepared.”
“Hmph. Letters are old-fashioned.”
Blinking, she slowly looks up and stares at Jessie. “H-how else am I going to send a message?”
“Send an audio recording, obviously. I want to know if our tech will survive a trip across the void or whatever it is.”
“...So you just want to experiment.”
“Obviously. I’ll even give you a few free of charge.”
“Deal!”
~Recording 1~
“-ke this?”
“Yup. Simple. Now this is a basic version of a recorder, so there’s no rewind or overwrite function. …Meaning, you can only record once, and playback continues on a loop. Since they’re strictly audio and require little other functions, you’ll have lots of recording time to play arou-”
Slam!
“Lyse! Is there a bloody limit to your godsdamned habit of making friends with everything that breathes in your direction?! I thought Fordola was bad enough, but this blue monstrosity is by far the worst thing I have ever seen!”
“Naago! Wha-”
“IT TRIED TO EAT ME!”
“...Don’t be silly. Fordola doesn’t like me. And griffins don’t eat people. Er, right?”
“GET RID OF-oh. Jessie. Uh. OH! S-sorry for interrupting.”
“Griffin? Is that what happened to you?”
“It’s nothing really.”
“...Were these cuts any deeper, it would qualify as a true mauling.”
“But they aren’t! And anyway, interrupting what? It’s not like I was sleeping, obviously.”
“Er. Uh.”
“Hahaha! Flattering, but no. The commander here just needed some help with a personal matter. And these bandages. I wouldn’t...I mean. ...Objectively speaking, you’ve muscles like corded steel, flexibility to die for, and ungodly stamina…”
“Th-thanks? I think? I do, um, train a lot. What’s that look for?”
“You know, if things with your girlfriend don’t work out, I wouldn’t mind-”
“My what?!”
Slam. Static.
~Recording ends~
It is silent in the Exarch’s chambers. The twins and the Warrior of Light are shaking their heads, Thancred is barely managing to keep his laughter contained, Urianger is smiling fondly, and Ryne is near vibrating with curiosity.
She, on the other hand, is torn between elation at hearing her friend’s voice for the first time in three years, and the inexplicable urge to eviscerate Jessie Jaye. It takes several deep breaths to stifle her murderous desires, though if Thancred dares to laugh as loudly as he so dearly wishes to, she may simply turn those urges on him.
The Exarch coughs lightly. “Well. They shall be glad to call their...experiment a success,” he says diplomatically. At her deadly glare, he steps back and clears his throat weakly. Strangled laughter escapes from Thancred, but he gets himself under control. She almost wishes he hadn’t. “Uh, yes, shall we hear other news?”
It is another sennight before the Warrior of Light returns from the Source once again, this time with a large bag filled with recordings. Thancred, having decided to bother her at Slitherbough for some ungodly reason, near chokes with laughter yet again as the bag is delivered by a nervous Warrior of Light.
“Shall we hear more of our dear friend’s adventures?” he asks with a smirk.
‘I am calm. I am restrained. I am Master Matoya. I have an image to uphold. I will not strangle him,’ she chants to herself.
‘My master would have turned him into a poroggo halfway through his sentence,’ a traitorous part of her mind sneers.
She settles for glaring daggers at the man, who only smiles wider in response.
“I, for one, would love to hear more of Jessie and her interest in our friendly, muscled, flexible friend.”
Any idea of upholding her image evaporates like fine mist in the sun. “She is as a sister to you!” she snarls, hand automatically reaching for her weapon.
Thancred’s eyes widen, and he scrambles back; as do Runar and the Warrior of Light.
“Of course! Of course! I did not mean! I certainly do not want to know the specifics of Lyse’s physical, ah, attributes! You know what, I shall be back let Ryne know shall you!”
She does not watch him leave, as strong as the urge to send a fire spell at his back is. Snatching the bag of recorders out of her friend’s hand without a hint of decorum, she retreats to her room. None dare call out to her.
~Recording 2~
“So um, I realize now that I sent Tataru the wrong recorder. I haven’t had time to ask for it back, so. Um. ...Please ignore everything you heard from that, if you listened to it all. Or if it ever gets delivered… “Mauled” is an exaggeration, and I definitely don’t have a girlfriend. ...Or a boyfriend. No...anything like that.”
A nervous laugh.
Papers shuffling.
“Gods, this is harder than writing a letter, I think. It really hasn’t been so long for me, since all of you...collapsed. I mean. It feels like it, but it really hasn’t been. It’s been a lot longer for you, according to Tataru. Will still be longer for you. Time is funny between worlds, it sounds like, so who knows how much time will have passed before you receive that first recorder, or even this one. ...When I put it that way, it feels like I wasted time, sending a test. It feels like every breath I take without hearing from you is a minute, a week, a month wasted. It hurts, which is silly because I’m not the one who had her soul taken. I’m not the one stranded out of time and space from home. But I know you all are adapting out there, just like always.”
A sigh.
“The present for us is the past for you, isn’t it? Is sending a message even worth the trouble? We still fight, the Empire is still out there, the Scions still work to take down primals. That’s how it is. You move on without us, we adapt without you. It isn’t easy, and I miss you so much I feel like my heart is breaking into pieces, but I will give everything to ensure there is an Eorzea for you to come back to. Even if it takes my entire lifetime. ...I just...pray that you come back sooner rather than later, you know?”
A shaky breath, then a sniffle.
“Please come home.”
~Recording ends~
The recording beeps, then immediately starts looping. Lyse’s sheepish voice fills her room once again. She hardly notices, lost in thought as she is.
“Adapt” Lyse had said. And she had adapted. Had found a home and a people she could care for amidst all this hopelessness.
She wasn’t truly herself, but after two years of acting as the calm, collected, restrained Master Matoya, it became less and less an act. It did her well, truly, easing her bitterness and hatred for the Exarch into a more reasonable distrust and wariness. It would have been all too easy to stay there, to live the simple life of a Blessed, surrounded by her books and the people she came to call her own.
But she never felt complete there; knew that her fate was bound elsewhere. It was a sweet act, but an act nonetheless. Just as Lyse's time as Yda had been. Truthfully, for all that she supported and cared for her friend before, it is only now that she understands how her time as Yda affected her, why she made the choice that she did, and how much strength it took her to do so.
Not only that, but also what it feels like to find a home -a family- and choose to leave it as destiny called. When she recalls how she playfully teased Lyse after her announcement that she was leaving the Scions, recalls her own pain when she chose to leave the Blessed, she feels nothing but guilt. To have made light of such a painful decision had been rude beyond measure, no matter her words of support after.
Her time with the Blessed was a mere two years, whereas Lyse had been with the Scions for six. She left to return to the Warrior of Light’s side, and Lyse left to shoulder a responsibility she never asked for yet was given anyway.
She falls asleep with her friend's tearful plea repeating in her mind, and wishing she could tell Lyse that she truly was the best of them.
~Recording 3~
“Sorry for the uh, emotions on the last recording. And I swore I wouldn’t cry again…anyway. Jessie gave me a whole lot of these tiny recorders for the small price of testing some new weapons of hers. I only smacked my head six times, so no big loss! Way less painful than dealing with another trade meeting. Which I am here, staring at documents for. Oh! Here as in, a tent on the frontline. I haven’t been able to spend much time at the Reach unless I’m injured, not that I’m worried. Naago has it all under control. I tried to take extra work when she wasn’t looking, because she really does have a lot of work too, but I wasn’t fast enough to get as much as I wanted. She says I have enough on my plate, between the war, meetings in Ala Mhigo, and the regular commander paperwork. ...Then she threw me out of the office.”
Lyse laughs mischievously.
“I did manage to nab next month’s finances. She’s going to strangle me when I go back, but I would be a fool not to take advantage of having Raubahn nearby. I think I’ve got the formulas down, but it never hurts to double check, and he knows all the best tricks to remembering them! It’s way easier than anything Papalymo or the teachers back in Sharlayan ever taught me. They make it sound so complicated! But it really isn’t when Raubahn shows me. It’s just patterns. And. Well. I never thought I would say this, but it’s almost nice to work on something as simple as numbers? Lately it’s all been about battle tactics and troop maneuvering and the like. I'm working hard on those too, but the knowledge that I’m sending people to their possible deaths hasn’t gotten easier. ...Hopefully it never does. I-”
“By the twelve, Lyse. It’s nearly first bell! Drowning yourself in work won’t help anyone, lass, though I understand the urge.”
“Ahk! Raubahn! Err. I just. Couldn’t sleep!”
“There are potions available for sleepless nights. Have you eaten at all since you returned? Fourteen bells ago.”
“Ah. Uh, no? Wait. Fourteen?”
“Dehydration can be as fatal as any injury. Injuries such as the ones you obtained from that griffin. For which you ought to have reported to the medics.”
“Ahaha. Right...right. I’ll just fini-”
“There’s no better time to check in with them. Pippin’s unit is recently returned, and I believe he is there as well.”
“Oh. Now. ...Okay.”
Papers and something heavier slides across what is likely her desk.
“Is this what having a mom-”
~Recording ends~
Y’shtola covers her eyes and sighs in exasperation. Leave it to Lyse to find herself friends in any situation, and also find herself dragged into troublesome matters. Making deals with the shrewd Jessie Jaye -of whom she is not oddly jealous of- picking fights with griffins -an event she still does not have the details of- and proudly overworking herself are all concerning matters on their own, yet that is merely a typical week for her friend.
The urge to scold Lyse is so strong, she entertains the notion that it could carry her spirit straight to her body across the void.
Sighing yet again, she places the recording on her nightstand, away from the pile of unheard recorders -which were numbered for convenience- and reluctantly readies herself for the day. The desire to take the time to listen to every message uninterrupted battles fiercely against the desire to savor the only tangible connection to Lyse she has.
But just as a commander’s work never ceases, so too are her days filled with guiding the Blessed through adapting to the new world order. Never before has she been so thankful for Lyse’s habit of rambling, for it gives her plenty to muse on during the times she must be otherwise occupied.
~Recording 4~
“Now, knowing you like I do, I’m sure you’ve been very suspicious about this griffin you’ve heard mention of in the other recordings.”
There is a chirp in the background.
“So uh, just so we’re clear, it wasn’t my fault. We were traveling through the Peaks, and we caught wind of a group of travelers being attacked. And the attacker just so happened to be a very big, very violent, very...blue griffin. Which I beat! Of course.”
An angry squawk sounds.
“Yes, yes. You got a good hit on me too. It still hurts, I hope you know.”
Lyse clears her throat.
“But, um. Apparently it kind of...imprinted on me. And she is an excellent tracker...because she followed me to the Reach. And...to the battlefield. Luckily she is quite happy to attack flying machines, but she also does not like anyone at all being within ten fulms of me. She tolerates Naago and Jessie for very limited periods of time, but so far the only one she doesn’t mind is Orella. She’s obviously smart, because Orella can be scary. Kind of like you! It must be a healer thing.”
A chuckle, then a sigh.
“Raubahn only said that he approves of Aqua’s battle prowess. Prowess that she has tried to display over our trained griffins a few times. There have been a lot of close moments, but the handlers are experts, and half of them will give anything to be close to her. Not that she lets them, unless they have lots of treats. I’ve never ridden her. She may like me, but we haven’t developed that level of trust. I think she’s mostly just curious right now, but we’re working on it! Hence our mandatory quality bonding time, that is mostly me giving her food and brushing her feathers. It doesn't sound like much, but I know I would be loyal to someone who did that for me every morning. And night, if there's no battle. I think Raubahn lets her stay because it distracts me from paperwork. Did you know he can be a fusser? He’s almost as bad as Papalymo.”
Aqua chirps, and Lyse coos at her.
“Her sire is, the handlers presume, an even bigger, meaner, bluer legendary griffin that roams the Peaks. They say he is the last survivor of the Mad King’s personal stock. Aqua is young, too, otherwise she would never have followed me. It’s baby season for griffins, and mothers don’t stray far from their clutch. Griffins are strong, but babies are just babies, you know? She doesn’t seem to have a mate, either. Did you know griffins mate for life? It’s kind of romantic, the level of devotion they have. That’s partially why they were adopted for the national animal. Before the royal family took it over. But we’re just ignoring...all of that.”
The griffin chirps loudly, and the vibrations of a far off blast concussion cause static in the recording.
“It’s a nice thought, isn’t it? The idea of finding someone who can accept you for all that you are. ...Or all that you aren’t. To know that, no matter what life throws at you, how much it takes away, there is someone who will stand by your side. Isn’t that just a family, though? Hmm. I never did understand the whole romance thing, or given it much thought, even before I was Yda. When I was Yda, well. I didn’t for obvious reasons, and no matter how often Thancred suggested I find myself a man or woman to lay with, I could never imagine myself treating people the way he does. How does he just go about embarrassing himself like that? I’ll stick to running the Reach, thanks.”
Another explosion, this one much closer.
“Looks like another unit is returning. I better go investigate, so, uh, bye, if you’re still listening.”
~End recording~
Lyse tamed a wild griffin.
Of course she did.
It isn’t as though griffins are notorious for their bad tempers, sharp claws, and powerful wind magic. It isn’t as though many a storied warrior have met their end at the claws of a wild griffin, which is the reason they were chosen as the Royal standard.
But that is not unexpected -though alarming- of Lyse.
What disturbs her more is the audible signs of battle she can hear in the background, the lost tone that the last portion of her message took, and.
Thancred.
“When I see that man again, I will have words with him for his past behavior,” she growls.
~Recording 5~
A cough. A deep one, from a person of much larger size and deeper voice than Lyse’s.
“Though I know not when you will receive this, nor if it will particularly matter if you do, Archon Rhul, I thought you deserved to know what has happened.”
Raubahn sighs.
“There was a skirmish that Lyse took part of. Though she is alive, she sustained enough injuries to put her out of action for a short time. It has been two days, and she has woken once. Worry not, for though her physical injuries were concerning, her condition is owed mostly to burning through her aether reserves to protect her soldiers from war machina. Loyal as the troops under her command are, she was carried out of the battlefield with due haste, and with near fanatic protection from that troublesome griffin.”
Another sigh.
“She has held herself well through this. Facing a war so soon after assuming true command would have broken many a lesser man, but she does not falter. Her actions and attitude have earned the respect of those under her command, much in the same way her father once earned mine. She will do well at Rhalgr’s Reach, and perhaps someday at Ala Mhigo. Of course, not anytime soon, for I’ve no intention of dying in the near future.”
Raubahn chuckles.
“At any rate. Your friend is in good hands. Though I obviously cannot make promises to her safety in war, know that she most certainly not alone, and not unprotected.”
~End recording~
Fear and dread settles in her heart, though realistically she is fully aware that Lyse is no longer in any danger. She would have been told if the situation were otherwise, yet even so, her hand trembles as she finds the next recorder.
~Recording 6~
“Hey, Y’shtola. I think I pushed myself too far. In that last battle. Worth it, to protect them. They have families. Not like me. Ugh. The potions here make me feel weird. I don’t like them. I miss yours. Miss you. Gods, it would all be so much better if you were here. You’re the only one who made me feel...welcome. Out of everyone. No matter what. Urianger hides with his grief and his guilt. Thancred is so bitter. Even when he’s with us, he isn’t really. The twins...they’re so wrapped up in themselves, moody teenagers that they are. They’re all dear to me, but you? More than anyone else, you were kind and supportive when I needed it most. You’re. I consider you family.”
A cough, one that sounds forced and wavers from the effort of holding back tears.
“But maybe...maybe that’s another thing I imagined. Maybe I’m looking too much into your kindness.”
A sniffle.
“A part of me hopes that I am, because, in the end, all my family dies. I don’t think I could bear it if I lost you too. I can’t-”
~End recording~
It’s just the ramblings induced by overly strong pain medications combined with aether exhaustion. She knows the signs, knows that she shouldn't take the musings seriously.
...Yet there was too much truth in her words to dismiss them entirely. Lyse has never been one to speak openly of her more distressing emotions; only the direst of situations have ever forced them out. Perhaps these words, these fears, are those she holds closest to her heart.
The confessions haunt her throughout the rest of the day, lingering in her mind, echoing whenever her attention wanders.
“Are you well, Master Matoya?”
She grimaces at the question. The Blessed have seen quite a bit of emotion out of her lately; far more than usual. Their curiosity is understandable.
“My apologies, Runar. It seems the messages from Yda distract me more than I expected.”
Yda. It was convenient, she thought when she first settled among the Blessed, that her dear friend had an adopted name she could refer to her as. Though it felt strange on her tongue, Lyse had only been Lyse for a short time in comparison to her years as Yda. The Blessed, of course, thoroughly approved of her friend’s motivations for taking her sister’s name, and in the interest of not offending them, she fell once again into the habit of calling her Yda in public.
“I hope she is well,” Alsa says.
Shrugging helplessly, she shakes her head. “She is, unfortunately, running about taming wild griffins and tearing apart war machines single-handedly. And paying the price.”
Maril mutters enviously. Being the guard leader, he enjoys hearing of Yda the pugilist’s many, many mishaps and feats of strength. Most often, he bemoans that his hunters do not have such a level of dedication to training. She thinks it an unfair comparison to make, but as his harsher training has reduced injuries among them, she feels no guilt in feeding him stories of Lyse’s rather extreme training habits. Some of which are even beneficial.
They ask no further questions. The Blessed have long accepted that her origins will forever remain a mystery, and she is in no mood to speak more on the subject. Their planning continues without interruption.
“Master Matoya,” Runar calls when their meeting is over. “You said that your Yda has tamed a griffin? Perhaps the Viis trinkets made with such feathers would be a gift worth sending. Even a small gesture would do wonders for her worries, I would imagine.”
She is startled at his suggestion. Not out of offense, but because it is perfect. Why had she not thought of it before? That she knows not when it will be delivered matters not. How is it that she has been content to receive all of Lyse’s messages, yet not send one of her own?
“Do you think they’ve gloves with griffin claws attached? That would make for a wonderful gift.”
“If one has bad taste, perhaps.”
“She is a fist fighter, is she not?”
Absently thanking her friend -and chuckling at the argument it has caused- she returns to her room with her mind whirling from plans and possibilities. It is too late to make a trip to Fanow, but on the morrow…
~Recording 7~
“I’ve been sent back to the Reach for a week. A week! I’m not that injured! I mean. I could have at least stayed to learn more about battle maneuvers with Raubahn, but he insisted I rest after that last battle. I would feel a lot worse about it if Pippin hadn’t received the same order. He didn’t want to leave either, but we didn’t have a choice. Still, it’s bad enough that I spent three days after the battle sleeping off aether exhaustion. ...I think it was three days, anyway.”
Lyse hums.
“On the bright side, I got to ride Aqua back! I have to admit, riding a yol was fun, but riding a griffin? I need to take you one day! She’s so fast! Naago was surprised to see me so soon, but she certainly didn’t hesitate to give me an earful for nearly dying, and another for stealing paperwork, and another for almost giving her a heart attack by landing Aqua at the commander’s tent. Hehehe. It was worth being dragged to Orella for a checkup. As if I haven’t had enough of those on the front. I got scolded, and was given some potions that I probably won’t take. They make me feel weird, and I seem to lose some memories when I use them. I think I moved stuff around, because I swear I had more of these, and all my ration bars disappeared. Not that I miss those. Hmm. I should have asked about that. It probably isn’t normal.”
She clears her throat.
“Anyway. Even though I’m not on the frontlines, there is still plenty of work to do here. I have a lot to catch up on, and I promised to give Jessie our notes on the machines the empire used. They may not be officially aligned to Gyr Abania, being neutral and all, but the Ironworks has proven to be one of our best allies. The allure of the abandoned imperial factories keeps them here, I think. Oh! Speaking of allies, I’ve been considering sending out an invitation to Master Widargelt, the man who is trying to revive the Fist of Rhalgr. This is their original home, and I won’t allow them to think that they’re unwelcome here. I’m not really sure how to contact him, but I know a soldier in the Reach that used to be under his command. It would be nice to learn from him, too. I’ve never properly trained as a monk. Most everything I know, I’ve had to figure out from the books Papalymo bought for me when I was a kid, and Sharlayan didn’t have a whole lot of those that weren’t focused on boring history.”
Lyse stops and grunts in confusion. The recorder catches a faint knocking.
“Oh, they’re probably looking for me. Maybe they’ll let me work now. I’ll make another message later, okay? Bye!”
~End recording~
Vainly, she attempts to recall any history of the Fist of Rhalgr. All she truly knows is that they were once the strongest warriors in Gyr Abania, and it was out of fear of their power that the Mad King destroyed them. That Lyse, an already fearsome fighter, may possibly hone her abilities further under the guidance of a monk is encouraging.
But first, she must needs survive the war. Something that has been in question twice now.
Assured of her friend’s recovery, she leaves the rest of the recordings for the following night. If she is to make a trip to Fanow, she must wake with the sun.
Her original intent is to simply acquire feathers and other necessary items to create a trinket, but when she explains that a friend of hers imprinted on a griffin -and that no, she is not within the woods- Almet directs her to their mender.
She leaves Fanow far later than she planned, but with a necklace, three bracelets, and leather gloves designed to imitate griffin claws. The leather gloves she is unsure of sending, as they aren’t a match for Lyse’s outfit, but the novelty of the details will see it appreciated.
Granted, she knows not when the Warrior of Light will next visit, or when they will return to the source, but as Lyse often says, it’s the thought that counts.
~Recording 8~
“I wasn’t allowed to get much paperwork done, but. Um. I took the opportunity to deliver some messages to Raganfrid in Ala Ghana. I.”
Lyse takes a deep breath.
“He. Did you know he knew my father? And my mother? And Yda? Because I sure didn’t. I mean. If you think about it, it’s not that surprising. Ala Ghana is hardly big. They must have known each other. But somehow...it never occured to me that he did. That...he was close to my father. He knows so much. Things I never would have, or could have imagined. I don’t even know what he looks like anymore, much less that he used to joke at awful times, or brawl with Raganfrid, or that he sang, or that he. That he was a fool in love, courting my mother for months without realizing it.”
She laughs, though not without a hint of despair.
“He said I’m too much like my father for comfort, after he spent a long time complaining about how annoying he used to be. ...I think they used to be best friends. He said my mom had a mean right hook, and used it on both of them several times. That dad near fainted when mom broke the news that she was pregnant with Yda, and did faint when she was born. That mom craved bitter foods when she was pregnant with me, which explains a lot, doesn’t it? Haha. I could have stayed there all day.”
An exhale, shaky and long.
“Until now, they didn’t feel real. Sometimes I wondered if I made up all that I know. I mean. I know dad was a skilled fighter...but mom? She put him to shame, and I never knew. Yda was a passable pugilist, but was always better with a sword. I knew my mom was a fighter, but I didn’t know she trained at the Reach when she was young. I didn’t know that she almost impaled herself with a sword, and then refused to touch them ever again unless it involved beating up whoever was holding it. That’s how they met, my parents. They had an...incident and he accidentally took a swing at her. She disarmed him, broke his wrist, and gave him a concussion! Can you imagine? Yda never really talked about them. Not that she was home very often. ..Err. I mean. Ahem. You probably don’t want to hear me ramble about my dead parents. I’m just. Right. Um. ...Sorry. Bye.”
~End recording~
What must it be like, to find someone who can shed light on a history so personal, yet so unknown? A history thought lost.
She spends a long night bitterly recalling her own family. Family she went years without contacting even before her soul was kidnapped across the void. Oh, how she took those connections for granted; connections that her friend had never had the chance to make in the first place.
The Scions were a poor substitute for family, before and after Papalymo’s death. Dear comrades and friends they may be, but never have they been truly close to each other. Just look at their actions on the First. They rarely contacted each other over the years, if ever, all too easily losing themselves in their work. Look at her actions now; only thinking to reassure Lyse after her friend reaches out herself.
Not for the first time, she thinks that Lyse was better off leaving the Scions. She, of all people, deserves to find a family that can reciprocate the deep love and affection she so easily gives.
~Recording 9~
“It's been a couple days since my last message. Trying to juggle paperwork, meetings, reports, training, travel, and Aqua is driving me insane, much less trying to figure out when to sleep or eat. It almost makes me miss the frontline, but at least there isn't constant ash, explosions, screaming, or blood. ...None that are real, anyway… They sure do seem real in my dreams, or when I lose focus. Too real."
She coughs.
"I'm pushing myself with all this teleporting around, to the point where I almost made myself sick again. Orella threatened to chain me to a cot if I didn't slow down. ...Jessie was quick to volunteer to do it. Hmph. Aqua has been a great help, though. Now that she has a saddle, I can get to Ala Ghana or Velodyna Keep as needed without the risk of being lost in the aetherial sea. I can eat while traveling, too. Really, it's the only time I get to be truly alone these days. Aside from sleep, and I don’t even get a whole lot of that."
Papers are shuffled near the recorder, and Lyse sighs.
“I really don’t do anything other than work and fight. Maybe I should take Jessie’s offer for lunch in Gridania. I haven’t traveled anywhere for pleasure since we all met in Limsa. Not that I have a whole lot of friends to meet. Someday I’ll take that tour of the Enclave that Hien wanted to give me. But first, we have to get through thi-”
The door opens, a clatter of metal meeting the wood and more pounding on the stone floor.
“Tch. Talking to yourself. Have you gone mad?”
“Fordola! What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“...Oh. Uh. Okay…”
There are several seconds of awkward silence.
“You look like shite.”
“Did you come here just to insult me?!”
“No.”
“...Then?”
“Why’re you trying to kill yourself?”
“...I know it’s a lot of paperwork, but that’s an exaggeration.”
“What are you trying to prove?”
“What?”
“Are you really that afraid of being rejected and abandoned? After everything you’ve done?”
“Hey! That’s. W-where’s this coming from? What does it matter?”
“You’ve lost nearly everyone that ever mattered to you. You have no family, nothing to tie you to Gyr Abania but your last name and a battlefield promotion. You’ve been broken, and shattered, and then you throw yourself into a role that should have gone to a dozen better leaders, just waiting to be rejected. What’s wrong with you?”
Silence, then shuddered breathing.
“You don’t have to tell me I’m not worthy of my rank. I already know that, and. And maybe I am waiting to be told to step down, but until that happens, I’m going to do everything, everything I can to make sure my job is done right. So what if it breaks me? I’m just one person, a normal, helpless person. Not a hero. And that's fine. I never wanted to be. Ever since I took Yda’s mask and name, I thought that if I could save one, just one person… If I could spare someone out there the pain that I feel, it would be worth it. My one life of pain for another's life of happiness isn’t much to ask for, is it?”
“...”
“Why are you so interested anyway? You’ve never cared before.”
“I’m not.”
“...Uh.”
“Also, I came in here to tell you that your monster broke into the kennels and stole a crate of fish just before we arrived. The trainers are having a fit. Arenvald is helping them wrangle some of the griffins.”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAD WITH THAT?! Oh Rhalgr, I’m dead. I’m so dead. As if I don’t have enough to deal with!”
Slamming, a yelp of pain, cursing, silence, then faint footsteps.
“...Y’shtola, is it? From what I’ve seen, you’re the only one of them who might have a chance at healing those wounds of hers. Kemp knew that she is everything Ala Mhigo would need after the war, even told her with his dying words that our people would follow her for her. She isn’t there yet, but she will be. She just can’t see it. How can she, with all that pain she holds inside? So you better come back and prove yourself worthy of the affection she holds for you in her broken heart, or don’t come back at all.”
~End recording~
Had she.
Had Fordola Rem Lupis just threatened her? Over Lyse? Had she directed the conversation to Lyse’s feelings because she knew a recorder was being used? To make a statement? What in the world was her angle?
She can’t even manage to sort her emotions and thoughts about that message. There had been too much said, yet not enough.
And since when was Fordola so...protective of Lyse? Last she knew, Lyse had been proud to get a mere grunt acknowledging her presence from the woman, yet there is no denying the clear threat in her recorded words. Either she “prove herself” to Lyse, or she stay out of her life. That is not an idle threat, nor one to make on behalf of a person they barely tolerate.
“Well now. “Making friends with everything that breathes in her direction” is certainly an apt description,” she mutters to herself.
Three years ago, she would have scoffed at the threat.
Last week, the notion that she would intentionally hurt Lyse would have angered her.
Today, after spending days peering into parts of Lyse’s soul, after listening to doubts and fears that her friend rarely alluded to, much less spoke openly of, she isn’t sure how to feel.
Relieved, perhaps, that there are people so dedicated to her friend’s happiness.
Concern for Lyse’s health and deeply rooted self-esteem issues. She knows from experience that both are things that Lyse goes to great lengths to ignore. There are few who could ever truly put her at ease, and fewer still who are left alive.
Underneath that, there is a persistent jealousy centered on Jessie Jaye and her relationship with Lyse, thought it is not her place to be jealous.
Buried deepest in her heart is...fear. Fear that she will not make it home to “prove herself.” Fear that she does and is proven unworthy.
Three years away from Lyse, and her emotions are no less complicated than the day her soul was kidnapped. “By the twelve,” she groans. “A world and three years between us, yet still she holds my heart. Mhitra would be pleased.”
Yes, she is well aware that her affection for Lyse has long surpassed the level it should for a friend, dear or not. She was perfectly content to ignore it back on the Source, and tried her hardest to forget it here. But even should she desire confronting those emotions, the void and time itself stand between them now. She can do nothing but search for a way home, partially eased by the knowledge that Lyse is not without friends in her absence.
Placing the final recorder on the desk with the others, her hand brushes against the gloves she has yet to ask the Warrior of Light to deliver.
“Hmm. Perhaps I can do a little more than nothing.”
~The Source~
Dragging herself to her tent takes far, far longer than it ought to, but in her defense, she has been awake for nearly two days, and is under the influence of three different medications.
Afterher short stay -exile- in the Reach, she had returned to the front. Officially, it was to serve as the commanding officer over the Doman and Gridanian troops, but unofficially it was to continue learning from Raubahn and some of the more experienced soldiers. War, much as she detests it, is something that comes easy to her. Easier than numbers and reading, at any rate.
With their lack of soldiers, being allowed an entire week to tend to matters at Rhalgr’s Reach had been overly generous of Raubahn. The other leaders were needed back at their homes, but she had no such excuse. Naago had full control of the Reach, and she was more effective in keeping order amongst their allies.
But war is new to her. Many a battle she has fought, yes, but the long, drawn out conflict that is war is an entirely different monster. She becomes accustomed to things that once disturbed her; soot in the air, the scent of blood lingering on the battlefield, the screams of her countrymen as they fall in battle or in the medical tent, and the crunch of bone and metal beneath her hand. Though they may be at a stalemate, that does not mean there are not skirmishes.
Sighing, she gently rubs her knuckles and slips into her tent. Destroying one war mech is enough to leave her knuckles bleeding; destroying four each day for the last three has left her hand bruised, swollen, and possibly fractured. Thankfully, Raubahn predicts that the imperials will cease pushing the line for at least a week or two after that loss.
Of course, she will have other work to keep her busy at base, but at least she will have a couple days to rest. She is halfway through undressing when she notices a package on her cot.
There are few things in her tent; only a pile of folders containing non-essential paperwork and some spare clothes. She has never needed much -never had much- so the brightly colored package stands out against the dull brown of her blanket. Curious, she stumbles over to her cot, and drops onto it, feeling her muscles melt now that she is resting. Unwrapping it reveals several items; a glowing stone, bracelets and a necklace decorated with griffin feathers, and a pair of leather gloves with knuckles reinforced with griffin claws.
She takes more time appreciating the gifts than she ought to before unrolling the rather large scroll that was included.
My dear Lyse,
Those three words are all she needs to know that Y’shtola is writing to her.
Y’shtola. Had she received the recordings Fordola so...thoughtfully stole to deliver to Tataru? Is she writing in response? And calling her dear. It's so unexpected, so affectionate, that she has to take a moment to collect herself. Imagining those words in her friend's voice makes her oddly giddy. A longing to see Y'shtola awake, safe, smiling at her even when she’s sighing in exasperation at her actions or tales grows until it’s nearly too much to bear.
Wiping away her tears, she steels herself for whatever words Y'shtola has written for her.
And so, instead of much needed sleep, her night is filled with tales of the First. Of eternal day to mysterious kidnappers to sin eaters to Nights Blessed to the wonders of Rak'tika. From the arrival of their friends to their final battle.
It's a long tale, one better told in person, but until the day she can hear it from Y'shtola herself, she will treasure this scroll and the gifts from another world. They will come back. They have to.
...Part of the Blessed’s curious religion is the heartstone. It is something they carry with them from birth, and is returned to the Font, a representation of the sunless sea, upon death. They are meant to guide the soul past the unforgiving Light, and into peace beyond. I was given one some time after the attack on the Fort, as a means of showing that I was becoming accepted among the community, I believe.
But the Master Matoya that resides amongst them is not truly me. I am but a shade of a person, my body a world away. It seems only fitting that my heartstone be sent back to the Source. From a purely sentimental standpoint, perhaps it will serve to guide my soul home in the future, and I can think of no better person to safeguard it than you, whom I most wish to return to.
Your dearest friend,
Y’shtola