Princess of Dragons

Falling. Floating. Without end. Without beginning.

Iscara slowly found her consciousness wrapping around herself, aware of her surroundings now.

Or, should would be, if there were any surroundings.

An endless darkness, nothing but void, all around her. But it didn’t feel wrong, it almost felt familiar.

“Hydaelyn?”

She called out, no words, no sound, but she called out all the same.

“Mother?”

Nothing. No crystal, no light, no words spoken to her soul.

And then there was everything, light, noise, brilliant, blinding, a rush, an onslaught, overwhelming.

Iscara woke up with an intake of breath, one hand clenching the covers of the blanket. The familiar ceiling of the Pendants greeted her, the large room silent with no one else around.

She pushed the covers aside, striding to the large windows, and pushed them open. The twinkling night sky greeted her, and she relaxed. Tension disappearing as she watched the stars glimmer against the blackness. Leaning on the railing, she simply watched them for a while, letting them calm her thoughts.

Usually when she had those experiences, it was Hydaelyn calling to her. It had felt the same, certainly not a dream, but what it meant she wasn’t sure. A reflection of what had happened here in the first perhaps?

Warrior of Light. Warrior of Darkness. Less and less, the title she was being called mattered to her. She would do what she had always been doing, no matter the place or time.

But for now, the fight was done, and she could enjoy the hard-won peace of the night, standing here, looking up at the stars glimmering against the dark.

For my free day prompt, I once again delved back to the 2018 challenge and randomly picked one of the prompts. So my extra credit day is inspired by 2018 #17 – Without A Trace.

Aymeric rarely had time to himself, even a morning was a treat to have spare. Although he swore that Lucia and Handeloup would scheme among themselves to make sure he got one every so often.

Not that he was complaining of course. He often used these rare occasions to relax and indulge in things he was otherwise too busy for. Today, he was in the kitchen, baking himself some treats to go along with his tea, something to look forward to on the busy days.

His loose cotton shirt was rolled up to the elbows, hands covered in flour and spices, the air a little cloudy as he folded the pastry for the last time, before rolling it out thin. Picking up a sharp knife, he deftly cut it all into rectangles, neat and regular.

Leaning over to the stove, he picked up the pan and removed the lid, the sweet smell of cinnamon and stewed apples filling the air. Each rectangle had a line of the mixture spooned onto it down the middle, steam gently curling up.

Humming to himself, a little tunelessly perhaps, he finished with the filling and picked the knife back up, cutting ribbons into the pastry on each side, and then drew them over the filling in a lattice pattern, sealing in the sweet treat in a pastry cocoon. When all twelve of them were wrapped up snugly, he brushed a little glaze on top, sprinkled them with a shower of sugar, slid them into the oven, and turned a sand timer to measure how long they were in there for. It shouldn’t take long, just until they turned golden and the sugar melted a little.

Out of the oven came the cherry pastries that he had made in the previous batch, little squares with diagonal corners cut out and folded over, so the cherries were just peeking out of the middle. These were transferred over to the wire rack to cool, and Aymeric busied himself with clearing up his efforts, washing the pots and pans and utensils in the sink. His chef would have told him not to bother, but he had given her the morning off so he could use the kitchen without feeling like he was getting underfoot, and he had every intention of leaving it as clean as he could.

The timer ran out, and he quickly dried his hand, using the towel as a hand cover to take the tray of apple pastries out of the oven and slide them onto the cooling rack next to the cherries.

Returning to the sink, the metal tray hissed as it hit the water, but he wiped it down and along with a few more utensils, wiped them all down before stacking them on the draining board. Turning back around to the pastries, he smiled to himself, took a step, and then stopped dead.

Slowly, he turned back, narrowed his eyes, and counted. One, two, three, four…nine, ten. He counted a second time. Ten cherries pastries. Ten apple pastries.

Which was a problem, because he had made twelve of each.

Looking around, he looked at the doors and windows. The windows were still misted up, the warm kitchen air causing dew drops on the cold glass panes. Those were undisturbed, so unlikely that a thief had come in from there. The door was on the latch, just as he had left it, nothing to suggest it had been opened recently. He looked back at the table, counting the pastries for a third time. Still ten, and he knew, he knew he had made twelve.

He tapped his hand on the table, lipped pressed together, thinking. For now, he fetch a large cloth, and carefully placed it over the pastries, covering them from prying eyes whilst they cooled. Then he went upstairs and found his linkpearl.

“Lucia?”

The line buzzed for a couple of moments “Ser? Is everything alright? You still have a couple of bells left of the morning.”

“I know. Perchance have you heard anything from the warrior of light this morning?”

He could almost hear the knowing grin she was concealing, “I may have informed her of your status as a free agent this morning.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No Ser. I would imagine she would have gone straight to yours. Or perhaps the Fortemps manor? Is something wrong?”

“No Lucia, nothing’s wrong. I’ll go back to enjoying the free time you’ve won me.”

“My pleasure Ser.”

The linkpearl cut out with a blip of static. He put it down, and then his hands on his hips, “You know I would have given you one if you’d simply asked for it?”

“I know,” a low voice came from behind him.

He turned around to see her leaning against the door frame to the room, one of the apple pastries in her hand, half eaten already. He gave her a look, and she returned it with a smile, taking another bite of the stolen treat.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Ever since she had first attuned to an aetheryte in Gridania, she had liked travelling by the aether currents that the network tuned into. There were always, flavours, tastes, smells associated with each

The Black Shroud was earthy, dappled sunlight and rustling leaves. A deep hum of elements, blending together in harmony

La Noscea was salty, churning, a spray of water against the face. The headiness of wine on the tongue.

Thanalan was heat, warm stones after a day of sunlight. A stillness in the air that made everything seem a little less urgent.

Coerthas was the first bite of winter, cold nipping at your heels. The scent after rain and the first signs of spring just peeking through the snow.

Gyr Abania spoke of undulations, the high peaks and windings valleys. A blend of earth and wind whistling around each other.

Orthard was brightly coloured, more so than any other place. The sounds of tiny bells, and metal on metal ringing at the edge of hearing.

The excitement of new places never dulled for her, and she was ever curious about what would be next, what places and sights there were to see just around the corner, what new aether was there to sense.

Completely forgot to cross post the last few, apologies! Spoilers for A Realm Reborn Quests, Astral and Umbral.

The noise in the kitchen was absolutely deafening. Bubbling, clattering pots, knives chopping against wooden boards, the creak of the roasts turning, people calling and screaming at each other, shouting out instructions and questions.

In short, chaos. Chaos that was perfect to hide in.

Until Alphinaud appeared at the door, looking frantic.

“Have you seen the warrior of light? Has she come through here?” His voice made no impact on the noise, looking helplessly around as the people moved by without paying him a wink of attention, “Ah, excuse me. Oh. Um, excuse me!”

It wasn’t until the lord of the house himself stepped into the entranceway that a silence swept across the room, people stopping and looking. Lord Edmont leaned on his cane, “Have any of you seen our guest of honour perchance?”

None of them could really meet his eye as they swept around the room, until one of them sheepishly pointed towards the pantry. The two elezen followed the finger, entering the slightly cooler room where the food was and looking around, until Alphinaud exclaimed, “There you are!”

Tucked away on one of the highest shelves, the warrior of light was lying on her back, legs wedged in between some boxes, a book from the library in hand as she took absolutely no notice of either of them and continued to read. Edmont raised an eyebrow, curiously wondering quite how she had gotten herself up there.”

“Please come down? I realise that attending this celebration is not exactly high on your list of pleasant things to enjoy, but you are the guest of honour, and it will make our stay here in Ishgard much more pleasant if we can get all the High Houses at least on polite terms.”

She didn’t answer, nor did she respond to the next several pleas from Alphinaud. Edmont reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder, taking his turn, “My lady, if there is something about the evening which is displeasing you so, I can see what I can do to change it. In the short time you have been here with us, you have already had quite an effect on us, and these celebrations are the way we wish to express our gratitude.”

The warrior of light sighed, still not looking at them, but instead up at the ceiling, “The last ‘celebration’ we were at…I just…I don’t think I’m ready.”

Alphinaud immediately softened, “Oh Iscara, I didn’t mean to…”

“I know.”

Edmont know the story, the reason that the trio of Scions had come to Ishgar,d seeking refuge within their snowy city. The poor young Sultana, poisoned, the warrior of light blamed.”

“Would you like to come down to the wine cellar with me? We can check the vintages that are to be offered at tonight’s ceremony together.”

She finally looked down at them, and after a few moments, alarmingly rolled off the shelf, landing on her feet lightly.

“I’d…appreciate that,” she said softly.

Edmont gave her a sympathetic smile, and held out his arm for her, which she took. Iscara looked down at Alphinaud, “I’ll come. Just…tell Tataru I’m not wearing a dress.”

The young scions spread his hands, grimacing slightly, “I’ll try.”

The tray of drinks sloshed around as they were deposited in the middle of the large table, the barmaid giving the group of Scions a wink as she slid away.

Iscara reached out for a bottle, flicking the cork out with a thumb, before taking a long chug, and then raising it up, “Cheers.”

Y’shtola chuckled, “I’m sure you’re meant to do that before you start drinking.”

“That was some hours ago,” Alphinaud pointed out, handing the miqo’te the glass of wine he had just poured.

“Yes, and some of us should probably stop,” Thancred interjected, pointedly looking at Ryne, who blushed, and pushed her glass away.

“It’s a celebration Thancred, let the girl enjoy it.”

“She won’t enjoy the hangover tomorrow.”

“Never had one in my life,” the warrior of light grinned at him. Thancred narrowed his eyes at her, and muttered ‘lucky sot’ under his breath.

“Never ever?” Alisaie looked over at the warrior, who shook her head, and earned a sigh in response.

“What’s with the heavy sighing?”

“Oh, nothing serious. Just…” the young elezen looked over at her friend, “Sometimes, I think that I barely know you. I know that’s not true, but…”

Iscara put her bottle down, looking over at Alisaie for several moments, the table quiet. Then she let out a sigh, took a long swing, draining the bottle dry, and said, “Fine, let’s do this.”

“What?”

“You want to know things? About me? Ask away.”

“What, just like that?”

“You are my friends. My best friends. I trust you, all of you. And, lets face it, I am a close-mouthed bitch most of the time. I don’t want you to feel like you don’t know me. Aaaand Lolorito happened to find out I have a sister, and that fact that he knows that when you don’t makes me feel weird. Also I’m pleasantly inebriated, so ask away.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yup. And she’s got eight kids, I’m very used to being called ‘Aunt Is’.”

“How old?”

“Eldest is fourteen now, youngest is only a few months. Nine possibly? I lose count. It’s where all my earrings disappear to, they get used as chew toys.”

“Where do they live?”

“They moved into Ala Mhigo after we took it back from the Garlean’s. Oma brought the merc banner down to fight in the liberation efforts, and once it was free, she wanted to stay. Jaydra brought the family because she’s been wanting to move for a while, and thinks she can get a good foothold with her business in the city.”

“Oma?”

“What business is she in?” The twins simultaneously asked.

“Oma is grandmother. Jaydra’s a goldsmith, she makes a good two thirds of the stuff I wear.”

“Thou has mentioned before in passing that thou does not consider thyself Ala Mhighan. May I enquire as to why, as it seems thy family is closely tied to the city?”

“Oma is Ala Mhigan, and there’s a fair few in my family tree. But there’s also other bits and pieces of different nationalities in there as well. I wasn’t born in Gyr Abania, didn’t grow up there either. I’m highlander, for sure, but personally I don’t feel I have any ties to Ala Mhigo, their culture is second hand to me. I had what you could probably call a ‘blended’ upbringing. More than anything else, I guess I think of myself as ‘Eorzean’.”

“What are those other bits and pieces then?”

“Okay, family tree time. So, Oma is Ala Mhigan, and she got together with a Limonsan, which made my dad. My mum’s father was Ala Mhigan as well, but her mother was the product of an Ala Mhigan and a Gridanian. And I think the Gridanian was a product of a Gridanian and an Ishagardian, but I’d have to ask about that.”

Alisaie was leaning her head on one hand, listening with rapture, “Multicultural indeed.”

Iscara hummed her agreement, knocking back another drink.

“Where were you born then, if not in Gyr Abania?”

“Mor Dhona. Southern shores of Silvertear Lake. Of course, it’s the Carteneau Flats these days.”

“Was there a reason for that?”

“The family and the merc banner, actually back a little bit. So, Oma inherited the mercenary banner, ‘Winter’s Edge’, and made a name for it and herself. So when King Theodoric came to power, and started doing things she didn’t like, she just packed up the banner and went out on an ‘extended work trip’. Basically unofficially quitting the city until it got sorted out, which, well you all know what happened there. And since everyone knew what she was doing, some of the family members of the mercs under her banner came with her, and it kind of grew, until it was this large nomadic band, going where the work was. Mor Dhona was empty, and central, and a pretty good place to make a more central camp, so there were there for a few years, and that’s when I was born.”

“What’s your favourite colour?” Ryne’s soft voice came from the corner.

Iscara smiled at the young girl, “Blue. More specifically, pale blues, like ice crystals, or hydrangea flowers”

“I’ve got one,” Thancred leaned forward, “Best and worst fights. Your opinion.”

Iscara winced, “Give me something easy, why don’t you,” she took a swig of the bottle as she thought. “Worst, Zenos. Rhalgr’s Reach was probably the worst of them all. Best? Thordan. Not for the fighting, that was easy, he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. None of them were, and that’s why showing them what a real Fury could do was so satisfying. Not healthy, but really, really satisfying.”

“Are you a follower of Halone?”

“Yup. And before someone asks, no, I was before Ishgard. I’ve been her follower since childhood, she was who I invoked when I was named.”

Y’shtola frowned a little, “Were you not named when you were born?”

“No. Not properly. There’s a, I guess who’d call it a belief in my family that a person’s name says a lot about them. So when children mature enough, they can pick their own name. Until then, they tend to have nicknames or a ‘kit name’. Although there’s a couple of people I know who liked those names so much they kept them.”

“So you chose the name Iscara?”

“And Wintermere. We all tend to have winter in our surname, keeps the family connection. Mere is an old name for a lake, referencing where I was born.”

“And Iscara?”

She smiled, “My first ever friend gave the name to me. Well, she gave me a title in her language, and Iscara is kind of what is translates to when you put in Eorzean.”

“Which language doth it stem from?”

Iscara chuckled, “You’re clever people. Learned people. I’m not going to tell you, but I would be interested to see if you can work it out. And what it means.”

Urianger raised an eyebrow, Y’shtola chuckled. Alphinaud dived into a tome in his bag, Alisaie rolled her eyes. Ryne looked slightly confused, and Thancred shrugged, “Well I hope there isn’t a prize because I have no chance of winning it.”

The warrior of light chuckled, “I don’t know. You’re pretty good at turning up unusual information when you want to.”

“So there is a prize?”

“You want something more than the satisfaction of knowledge?”

“Yup.”

She tapped the table, “Alright. That pool Tataru has going. About my love life.”

“Ooooh, you know about that?”

“Course. Anyway. I’ll tell the winner the answer.”

There was a moment of silence, then Alphinaud stood up suddenly, redness across his cheeks, “SorrybutIthinkIneedtogotobenowgodnightall,” he said without breathing before turning and abruptly walking away from the table.

“Oi! Don’t you dare think you can go and break into the crystal tower at this point at night!” His twin yelled at him, also leaving the table to chase after him.

“Prithee excuse me, and I shall see that they do not cause too much ruckus,” Urianger said, exiting at a more sedate pace.

Y’shtola sighed, “You want to look in the crystal tower as much as they do.”

“The coin that hast flowed into aforementioned pot is vast.”

The thaumaturge waved a hand at him.

“Not joining them Y’shtola?”

“I doubt the information is contained within the Tomes of the Exarch. And yourself Thancred?”

“Oh, I was simply planning on taking a more immediate approach. More wine my friends?”

Iscara chuckled, leaning forward and meeting his eyes, “I could drink everyone else in the entire Crystarium under the table and still be lucid enough to not tell you a damn thing.”

“Now that sounds like a challenge.”

Aymeric hung his armour on the manikin, adjusting it until it so it hung properly, the blue and gold coat shimmering in the firelight now that it had been cleaned. His boots were underneath, already tended to and polished, and Naegling had been first to receive attention, resting in a bracket on the wall.

Left in just his under-layers, he turned back to the room at large, smiling as his gaze fell upon the bed and the room’s other occupant.

Whilst he had been cleaning his armour, the warrior of light had been bathing, cleaning the muck and grime and blood of whatever she had been up to that day off. But now she was lying on the bed, one towel still half covering her, her chest moving in the rhythmic pattern of someone sleeping.

He quietly moved across the room to gently sit on the edge of the bed. Iscara was a light sleeper by nature, and had admitted to him some time ago that she didn’t sleep like other people. Even before she had gained the title ‘Warrior of Light’ she would doze rather than sleep, taking short naps when she needed them rather than the long sleep that most other people engaged in. She didn’t know why it was, when asked she had said that nowhere felt ‘comfortable’ enough, and joked that maybe it was the echo keeping a constant eye out for trouble.

Reaching out a hand, his fingers gently traced down her tan skin, over the edges of her often covered back tattoo, the white shapes etching out an outline that he often thought resembled a dragon in flight. She didn’t even stir at his touch, and he felt an enormous contentment at that.

That she could sleep, truly sleep, in his presence was an expression of trust unlike any other he had known. To know that she was comfortable around him, and trusted him enough to be this venerable, filled his heart with emotion.

Leaning over, he moved the towel off, and replaced it with the blanket, tucking it in around her before he kissed her shoulder.

“Sleep well,” Aymeric whispered.

A herd of small Soblyn’s were skittering over the rocks. Ashwin’s head twitched around, almost reaching for an arrow to knock to his bow.

Iscara chuckled at her nephew, “I think you’ve slain enough things today. And they aren’t big enough to be a menace to anyone.”

“The big ones are.”

“Certainly, but these aren’t big ones, are they?”

He let the arrow fall back into the quiver, but still kept his bow out, held in his left hand. Iscara shifted the babe on her hip, dislodging him from chewing on her earring, which he promptly grabbed for as soon as he was in his new position.

“So how’s the city.”

Ashwin shrugged, “It’s…different, but I think I like it. There’s loads more people, and they’re not like the clan, but I think that’s good. And the food here is great. Not so much the weather.”

“Doesn’t rain much, does it?”

“It saves it up and then does a month’s worth in one go. The storms here are huge.”

They entered the city through one of the gates, nodding to the guard, and made their way through the tall buildings to a more central part of the city. In one of the squares dotted about the city, they came across a Hyur and Lalafell who were talking with each other, the pleasant smiles of cut-throat merchants on both of their faces.

Iscara gave the Lalafell’s bodyguard a nod, and he returned it, clearly suppressing some curiosity about why the warrior of light was currently bouncing a baby on one hip.

Lolorito and Jaydra reached out hands, and shoke on whatever they had just been talking about. Iscara had no idea what that deal might be, but took it as a sign that the business was concluded.

“I should certainly like to see some samples.”

“Of course, although, you might have already, I do have several notable clients who wear my work.”

“Oh?” Lolorito seemed interested, before his gaze caught the movement and he looked over, “Ah! Our esteemed warrior of light. What brings you to this humble merchant today?”

“Nothing, it’s her I’m after,” Iscara enjoyed watching Lolorito’s mustache twitch a little, and then again as she handed her youngest nephew back to his mother, and stripped her earrings from her ears, “You owe me a new pair, he’s chewed these ones practically to death.”

“Again? You should have given him his toy.”

“Like all your brood, they always seem to prefer the dangly things to the ones they are meant to use.”

“Lady Jaydra, perchance is the warrior of light one of your clients? I do recall that you have been seen wearing some unusual jewellery at Ul’dahn functions.”

Jaydra looked at Iscara, who shrugged, “Yes, my sister is fond of wearing my creations. My demand in Ishgard stems from her stays there.”

“Sister? Well, I daresay this has been a day of unexpected turns.”

“After you and the Sultana worked on the salt mines together, I lost the urge to drop-kick you over the nearest tall building. I hope that you dealings with my sister proves fulfilling in the same way, lest my urge return, with a pressing and imminent need to be fulfilled,” Iscara crossed her arms as she looked down. She didn’t often threaten, but for the oily lalafell, she made an exception.

“Of course, of course. A pleasure as always.” He gave the pair of them a short bow, before walking off, bodyguard in tow.

“I do hope he tried to use that information,” Jaydra grinned at her.

Iscara grunted, “I need a shower. He might be a great businessman, but he’s still an oily snake.”

Aymeric finished writing his comments at the bottom of one piece of parchment, before putting it to one side, and pulling the next towards him, switching his focus from military strategy to economic concerns.

His throat itched a second before he had to raise a hand to his mouth to catch the dry cough that rattled around the study. Hm smothered a second, reaching out for the pot of tea that he kept at one corner of the desk, and realised as soon as he picked up the handle that it was empty, the last dredges drained with his previous cup.

The Twelve appeared to be smiling at him however, as there was a knock at the door, and a familiar Hyur appeared in the crack, “Tea?”

“By the Fury, yes.” He croaked out, only realising now how long he had been in his study. He leaned back, quill dropping from his hand, closing his eyes to rub them, and ease his hands out of their cramped states.

The sound of china against wood, glugging water, and the aroma of Coerthan tea leaves hit his senses, and he reached out, eyes a little blurry, to take the cup from her and gulping down the first few sips, caring not for the scalding temperature.

“No birch syrup?” Her tone was fond, if teasing, “You must be thirsty.”

“Parched.” He agreed, leaning back in his chair. 

The warmth of her body came in close as she leaned on one of the armrests, one hand going to the back of his neck, lazily stroking up and down, brushing his hair ends about. Between that and the warm cup of tea in his hand, Aymeric was most content to close his eyes and lean back into the comfort.

He went through three cups of tea before Iscara leaned in, her head resting at the back of his shoulder, nose just brushing his neck, her breath warm and tickling, “Better?”

“Much.”

“Olbont says you’ve been here since the seventh bell of the morning.”

“Do I want to know what the bells tolls now?”

“Probably not. But it’s certainly late enough for you to be done for the day. More than a day, in fact.”

“Far be it for me to cast aspersions on the one who has graced me with salvation this hour, but you are known throughout Eorzea for working all hours of the day and night.”

She chuckled, “At least I get out the house. Change things up a bit. Take a break every now and then. You’ll meld to the chair before long.”

He couldn’t help but groan an agreement, “A change of pace then. The sparring grounds?”

“That’s one option.”

It was the tone that shot straight through him, hitting low and hard, as Aymeric opened his eyes to look at her, but didn’t get further than the edge of the armrest. She was wearing that dress again. The one in pale blue, that looked so elegant with its high neck and silver edging, until she moved and it revealed slits all the way up. Of course, sitting down, as she was now, they were almost impossible to keep closed.

She was still hovering at his shoulder, midnight eyes dancing at him, playful and suggestive. Suddenly, he couldn’t think of much else.

“I believe I would be very interested in seeing what option you would pick for us tonight, my dearest.”

Iscara smiled at him, finally moving in those few inches more so that she could seal their lips together

Taking prompt #26 from the 2018 FFXIV Writes Challenge – Not A Weapon

“Here,” the Warrior of Light held a mug out to the young elezen, a gentle curl of steam rising up into the night air.

“What is it?” Alphinaud asked, taking it anyway and sniffing.

“Mulled fruit punch.”

“Alcoholic?”

“Only a splash.”

He blew on the surface of the liquid, and took a sip, “That’s rather good. An old Ala Mhigan recipe?”

“I have no idea, I just asked for something warm.”

Alphinaud smiled, curling his hands around the cup, “I appreciate it.”

“I think you’ve earned it, after all the sleuthing and running around you did today…and shrieking.”

His ear tips went bright red and he spluttered slightly, “I have already remarked, that I would find it a kindness if you did not refer to that…lapse in judgment!”

“At least you didn’t have to swim,” Iscara teased him, before giving in, “I kid Alph, I kid. Teasing aside, I am happy that you joined us in this little adventure. It wasn’t all that long ago that you would have turned up your nose to chasing rumours of treasure.”

Alphinaud paused for a moment, looking up at the warrior, “I’ve…the hardships we’ve faced, the trials we’ve overcome, and the victories won, they’ve all taught me more than I ever thought I would learn in this land. You’ve taught me more than I ever would have believed. When I think back on how I was…I’m glad. Glad that you bore with me, glad that I can now call you friend, rather than just thinking of you as a weapon, a tool to be used. You are not a weapon.”

“I’m not just a weapon.”

The elezen frowned, looking up at her over the rim of the mug.

“When you said that, calling me a ‘Weapon of Light’, there was something I wanted to say to you, but I knew you wouldn’t understand it.”

“How about now?”

“Now. Now I think I can say that you’re wrong both times. I’m not that I am a weapon. It’s not that I’m not a weapon. I’m the warrior of light, and part of that is fighting, sometimes a large part. I can swing battles just with my presence, defeat beings thought of as gods, I can become stronger when I need to, because the work never stops. But as well as that, I inspire people. I bring hope. I laugh, I cry, I hurt, but above all, I love. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Alphinaud had the cup between his hands, thumbing the sides gently as he thought, looking up at his friend, “You…you choose to be a weapon when the need arises. Because you know you can be. Because…you want to be, for us.”

She gave him a proper smile, “I’m proud of you Alphinaud. And proud to be your friend.”

He ducked his head, desperately trying to hide his red cheeks, “Thank you, Iscara. And thank you, for sharing that with me.”

The tall Hyur reached over, gently pulling the shorter man into a hug and gave him a brief squeeze, “You earned it.”

The Magitek Vanguard thrust one of it’s pointed appendages out at her, and the Warrior had no trouble sliding under it, her own spear coming up to pierce one of it’s legs, ripping out several bits of presumably important interior. They both spun around, Iscara much quicker than the lumbering magitek, and wrecked the other knee joint just as efficiently.

There was a clanking behind her, and she spare a half-second glance to see a Magitek Colossus lumbering up to join in the fight. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the Vanguard, scoring a ling across and arm joint that stopped on of the drills whirling. It was still a very large chunk of sharp metal, and she dove to one side to avoid it, before immediately reversing her momentum, rolling over the top of it to avoid the sword the Colossus swung down, hitting the floor and showering them all in sparks.

Rolling through its legs, she leapt up, briefly landing on its shoulders as a stepping point so she could leap up into the air, far higher than any other than her fellow dragoons could manage, aiming down at the Colossus, spear point driving straight between the horns.

With a grunt, she leveraged her spear back out, taking a huge chunk of vital components with her, before she backflipped off the Colossus, onto the Vanguard, driving her spear down on it in exactly the same way.

Lightly landing on the Castrum floor, her spear held out to one side, she let out a breath. And that was precisely when the explosives she had set decided to run out, demolishing scores of crates of new, very expensive equipment that had just been delivered to the Castrum.

She was just mapping out her exit in her head, when there was a creaking behind her. Iscara frowned, and turned, just in time to see the magitek she had defeated inches from her face.

An almighty crunch echoed round the Castrum, grinding of metal on metal as both Magitek armour’s fell over, jostled by the vibrations from the explosions, straight onto the Warrior of light, who in turn heard and felt a crack in several places, including when she hit her head against the metal floor.

Clenching her teeth, she rolled onto her front, metal poking into her from all places, and pressed herself up, able to shove the metal aside enough to crawl out, hissing through her teeth as she moved her legs.

Ignoring the mess behind her, she ran from the Castrum, dodging around the few frantic imperials that were on her path, until she was back outside in Mor Dhona, circling round the back of the rock she had left her Chocobo behind.

Emblem whistled at her as she came around, leaning against the rock, drawing in pained breaths through clenched teeth. Right leg, definitely broken, likely in more than one place. Ribs, probably a mess. Wrists, not broken, maybe sprained. Blood, some, certainly enough to make her look like a savage, as the imperials were so fond of calling her.

On the good side, she could tell Slafborn that the Imperials weren’t likely to be a problem in the near future.

On the bad side, Y’shtola was going to absolutely have a fit at her for running on a broken leg.

Iscara sighed, gave Emblem a scratch before climbing up on his back, and gently nudging him into a walk back to Revenant’s Toll.