She lay by his side as he slept, for the moment peacefully though she had no doubt that eventually his mind would turn as it always did to painful things and he would be tossing and murmuring. Â When he did she would be there, offering the small comfort of her arms and gentle, wordless lullabyes that she hoped would filter into his nightmares and offer him some small succor.
For now, as he rested and she looked at his silhouette in the dark, her mind went back to the thoughts and memories that had sprung to life when she had smelled the rose hips and chamomile.
-----
There had been a merchant in the bar, speaking of the endless blue of the Rhotano Sea and the amazing sight of the great ships in the harbor at Aleport. Â His words had filled her mind with the sights and smells of a sea she had never seen and later that day she had quit her job and gathered her things, setting out for Vylbrand and adventure she had never seen.
It was there, sitting on a pile of crates and carefully balancing her fear of the water with the wonder that the sights and sounds of Aleport filled her with, that she had seen the man with the ancient helm. Â She had consented to play for him on the lute strapped to her pack...
-----
Such a simple, simple thing. Â She remembered the song- her notes on it sat on the desk a few feet away from the bed. Â He had begun calling her Songstress- she had thought it sweet, if a little reductive. Â She was so much more than just a singer, though that strange man with his strange ways could not have known that then. Â He knew little of miqo'te and nothing of the tribes, but he meant no insult so she had smiled and let it be, consenting to travel with he and his strange group of companions on little more than a whim- she would be going home soon, after all, and one last grand adventure would give her enough to tell a great Song when she returned.
Rhisi sat up in the bed and curled her tail around herself. Â There was the soft sound of rain on the windowpane above her bed and she turned to watch the droplets fall and make their eldritch patterns on the glass.
When had it gotten complicated? Â It hadn't been long, she knew that much. Â There had been something about him that resonated in her poet's heart, something that she did not have the knowledge, the worldliness, to understand or even name. Â They understood one another, knew what it was to stand in a land and be different and strange and yet somehow full of the self-assurance that comes from knowing where one's roots lay. Â But he was Hyur and taboo. Â She would be going home soon. Â He was not miqo'te, he was not Coeurl. Â He was far older than she.
Then, he was taken. Â By one whom she called 'sister'.
The group of strange and varied companions had grown on her, had become closer to her than blood. Â She had begun to think of them as family. Â They fought together. Â Sang together. Â They shared their strengths and fears and struggled to be a light in a weary world. Â They grew and shrank like a living thing- breathing in, breathing out, smaller one day and larger the next. Â And through it all, a man in red standing as a living beacon of honor, drawing them in.
------------
Sitting beside a campfire in Thanalan, after running off a pair of strangely dressed men. Â She had begun to sing and the voices had lifted with her. Â He had smiled and the fire had burned so much brighter...
-----------
Then, things had happened so fast she could scarcely put them in their proper order. Â Injuries. Â Poison. Â The truth of the color red, the vow, the realization that she was never going home. Â The growing sense that she was running downhill with no ability to stop, rushing into something she did not understand and was not prepared for. Â Testing the waters of affection with one who would be safe, though all the while her eyes could find him unerringly, slivers of iron caught with a magnet. Â A great bell ringing in her head with the tone "Forbidden". Â The too-observant eyes of her sister upon her, the insistence that she was a child who could not know her own heart.
Acceptance and rebellion in the same breath.
Rhisi ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes. Â It still hurt. Â She was who she was, had been taught that selfishness was the way to ruin not only for herself but for the tribe as a whole. Â And though these were not Coeurl and they could not know it and would never understand it, they had become her tribe. Â And she had smiled in the light and sung and danced and put aside foolish, impossible things with a pain in her heart that seemed so large sometimes it would swallow Azeyma herself.
The bad days began soon after. Â Living with a heart divided guarantees sickness and she had bled to death while writing the song that would rejoice in the joy that had been revealed to her. Â For his sake, for the sake of her 'sister', she had smiled, she had filled the air with song. Â She had hidden every emotion but joy because she could not stand for them to see her in pain- nor could she ever, ever admit why.
She'd begun travelling then, going as far as she could into the desert with the mark of the outcaste tattooed for all time on her cheek, a mark of failure, a sign that she had abandoned everything she had been born to be. Â And for what? Â For who? Â Someone who did not want her. Â Someone taboo. Â Someone who saw her as a child.
And someone who would break her heart.
She had returned for a single night, meaning only to share that she was well, that she had come to learn much on her journey. Â When she had arrived at the great ediface of stone that she had come to love, it's solidity seeming unshakable, she had heard the news that had sent her back out into the world, away from all of it- away from temptation and responsibility and honor and everything that Hall stood for. Â She had ridden aetherial currents as far as they could take her then used her own two feet and her wits to carry her further still.
Until on the Far Eastern shores she had had to face everything she'd been running from.
------
She'd been sitting on the beach, watching the water, sharp eyes catching the sight of sails from fishing vessels drifting peacefully with the tide. A small group of children were playing in the sand under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Â Her robes had hidden her tail, her hair had been done up to hide her ears, and they had not noticed her.
The song they sang as they skipped and jumped and made castles in the sand had not registered at first. Â Then it was all she could hear, high children's voices singing about the Red Samurai. Â The surf vanished, the sunlight filled her eyes, and she heard over those innocent voices her own voice, nearly as innocent as theirs, swearing an oath that she had fled across the world to run away from.
She had come to herself in a cave created by the cliffs meeting the sea, far and further from where she had sat in the sun. Â The tide was high and she was trapped, the light summer kimono soaked with sea spray and tears. Â She had slept there and dreamed and her dreams had been unkind in their honesty but at the same time had filled her with such painful joy that when she woke she wept to have them end.
-------
He shifted and made a noise and she looked to him, feeling again that mingling of pain and joy. Â It would always be this way between them. Â They had shared too much for it to be easy- each had their scars, the tender places of their hearts where the healing had been incomplete and they would ache forever when it rained. Â She was yet naive enough to pray in the stillness of the night that their choice was the right one- that for once, for them, the decision to seize a little happiness would be best for the many and the few. Â Then he was tossing, turning, his expression catching the moonlight like a mask of tragedy, and her musings and memories were all forgotten, cast aside like children's toys as she obeyed the simple, primal, overwhelming urge to ease his pain- and in so doing, perhaps find her own little slice of peace.
For now, as he rested and she looked at his silhouette in the dark, her mind went back to the thoughts and memories that had sprung to life when she had smelled the rose hips and chamomile.
-----
There had been a merchant in the bar, speaking of the endless blue of the Rhotano Sea and the amazing sight of the great ships in the harbor at Aleport. Â His words had filled her mind with the sights and smells of a sea she had never seen and later that day she had quit her job and gathered her things, setting out for Vylbrand and adventure she had never seen.
It was there, sitting on a pile of crates and carefully balancing her fear of the water with the wonder that the sights and sounds of Aleport filled her with, that she had seen the man with the ancient helm. Â She had consented to play for him on the lute strapped to her pack...
-----
Such a simple, simple thing. Â She remembered the song- her notes on it sat on the desk a few feet away from the bed. Â He had begun calling her Songstress- she had thought it sweet, if a little reductive. Â She was so much more than just a singer, though that strange man with his strange ways could not have known that then. Â He knew little of miqo'te and nothing of the tribes, but he meant no insult so she had smiled and let it be, consenting to travel with he and his strange group of companions on little more than a whim- she would be going home soon, after all, and one last grand adventure would give her enough to tell a great Song when she returned.
Rhisi sat up in the bed and curled her tail around herself. Â There was the soft sound of rain on the windowpane above her bed and she turned to watch the droplets fall and make their eldritch patterns on the glass.
When had it gotten complicated? Â It hadn't been long, she knew that much. Â There had been something about him that resonated in her poet's heart, something that she did not have the knowledge, the worldliness, to understand or even name. Â They understood one another, knew what it was to stand in a land and be different and strange and yet somehow full of the self-assurance that comes from knowing where one's roots lay. Â But he was Hyur and taboo. Â She would be going home soon. Â He was not miqo'te, he was not Coeurl. Â He was far older than she.
Then, he was taken. Â By one whom she called 'sister'.
The group of strange and varied companions had grown on her, had become closer to her than blood. Â She had begun to think of them as family. Â They fought together. Â Sang together. Â They shared their strengths and fears and struggled to be a light in a weary world. Â They grew and shrank like a living thing- breathing in, breathing out, smaller one day and larger the next. Â And through it all, a man in red standing as a living beacon of honor, drawing them in.
------------
Sitting beside a campfire in Thanalan, after running off a pair of strangely dressed men. Â She had begun to sing and the voices had lifted with her. Â He had smiled and the fire had burned so much brighter...
-----------
Then, things had happened so fast she could scarcely put them in their proper order. Â Injuries. Â Poison. Â The truth of the color red, the vow, the realization that she was never going home. Â The growing sense that she was running downhill with no ability to stop, rushing into something she did not understand and was not prepared for. Â Testing the waters of affection with one who would be safe, though all the while her eyes could find him unerringly, slivers of iron caught with a magnet. Â A great bell ringing in her head with the tone "Forbidden". Â The too-observant eyes of her sister upon her, the insistence that she was a child who could not know her own heart.
Acceptance and rebellion in the same breath.
Rhisi ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes. Â It still hurt. Â She was who she was, had been taught that selfishness was the way to ruin not only for herself but for the tribe as a whole. Â And though these were not Coeurl and they could not know it and would never understand it, they had become her tribe. Â And she had smiled in the light and sung and danced and put aside foolish, impossible things with a pain in her heart that seemed so large sometimes it would swallow Azeyma herself.
The bad days began soon after. Â Living with a heart divided guarantees sickness and she had bled to death while writing the song that would rejoice in the joy that had been revealed to her. Â For his sake, for the sake of her 'sister', she had smiled, she had filled the air with song. Â She had hidden every emotion but joy because she could not stand for them to see her in pain- nor could she ever, ever admit why.
She'd begun travelling then, going as far as she could into the desert with the mark of the outcaste tattooed for all time on her cheek, a mark of failure, a sign that she had abandoned everything she had been born to be. Â And for what? Â For who? Â Someone who did not want her. Â Someone taboo. Â Someone who saw her as a child.
And someone who would break her heart.
She had returned for a single night, meaning only to share that she was well, that she had come to learn much on her journey. Â When she had arrived at the great ediface of stone that she had come to love, it's solidity seeming unshakable, she had heard the news that had sent her back out into the world, away from all of it- away from temptation and responsibility and honor and everything that Hall stood for. Â She had ridden aetherial currents as far as they could take her then used her own two feet and her wits to carry her further still.
Until on the Far Eastern shores she had had to face everything she'd been running from.
------
She'd been sitting on the beach, watching the water, sharp eyes catching the sight of sails from fishing vessels drifting peacefully with the tide. A small group of children were playing in the sand under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Â Her robes had hidden her tail, her hair had been done up to hide her ears, and they had not noticed her.
The song they sang as they skipped and jumped and made castles in the sand had not registered at first. Â Then it was all she could hear, high children's voices singing about the Red Samurai. Â The surf vanished, the sunlight filled her eyes, and she heard over those innocent voices her own voice, nearly as innocent as theirs, swearing an oath that she had fled across the world to run away from.
She had come to herself in a cave created by the cliffs meeting the sea, far and further from where she had sat in the sun. Â The tide was high and she was trapped, the light summer kimono soaked with sea spray and tears. Â She had slept there and dreamed and her dreams had been unkind in their honesty but at the same time had filled her with such painful joy that when she woke she wept to have them end.
-------
He shifted and made a noise and she looked to him, feeling again that mingling of pain and joy. Â It would always be this way between them. Â They had shared too much for it to be easy- each had their scars, the tender places of their hearts where the healing had been incomplete and they would ache forever when it rained. Â She was yet naive enough to pray in the stillness of the night that their choice was the right one- that for once, for them, the decision to seize a little happiness would be best for the many and the few. Â Then he was tossing, turning, his expression catching the moonlight like a mask of tragedy, and her musings and memories were all forgotten, cast aside like children's toys as she obeyed the simple, primal, overwhelming urge to ease his pain- and in so doing, perhaps find her own little slice of peace.
