(( With apologies and love to the even more lovely Daena Ghurn. <3 ))
Suns later.
This is all wrong. It was Aylard's voice in his head grumbling low like gravel on gravel, disembodied and all the more disappointed for it. Hroch could almost see the weathered old man standing there beside them with his face set into a stony scowl. Look at it, boy. Look at it. Where's the song? Where's the drink? 'Tis a man fought proud all his life. Where's the fire to send him home?
Gharen and the Garlean took off for the night despite Hroch's protests. Though it took some talking, even Hroch began to understand Wolfsong's concerns: he had actually dared attack Wolfsong for protecting the woman, after all. He hardly remembered it but the bruises and scrapes were there from when he was tossed around the cave like the fool he was and Daena had actually been rendered unconscious thanks to Gharen's choke hold. There was no chance he nor Daena could have taken on a warrior like Gharen Wolfsong yet they tried anyway. Ruva had lain murdered after they'd gone to catch the Garlean and they were left seeing red.
In the end, it changed nothing. Gharen got his way, the Garlean (Roen as she was called) was left uncut, Xydane offered his condolences before leaving to sniff out possibilities, and Shaelen eventually stormed off hunt down maps and schematics. Hroch and Daena were alone in their cave hidden at the back of a place known to be called Lost Hope and so the task of grieving fell to them.
The pyre was small and clumsily built. Both of the youths had seen their fair share but those were built by men and women who had seen and built hundred more. Every body they wrapped and mounted upon the flames made the motions all the more familiar. They were not children by age but by inexperience, for the lives spent fighting for the Resistance were measured not with years but with the number of friends they had laid to rest.
Daena wept in silence when she wept at all, angry lines that came down her cheeks in waves she seemed desperate to ignore. Hroch stood by her side while the flames eventually licked up and embraced the body offered to it. It occurred to him at one point that there were songs to be sung but he did not know Ruva, and he did not know how to sing besides. Now and again he noticed Daena's lips moving but she was ever silent and he assumed she did not know, either. He did not think to ask and eventually decided that she might not hear him even if he did.
So Hroch Greyarm stood at her side and watched the fabric char and crumble, watched the body of his father's most trusted friend turn to ash. And even as the moon ran its course arcing through the stars overhead, Hroch waited and watched. She stood as the warrior she was groomed to be, proud and defiant against sorrow and weariness. Strong and beautiful and perfect, a true daughter of Ala Mhigo.
After the scuffle had died down and everyone had come to their senses, Roen was given an opportunity to explain herself. She did not deny being a Garlean nor plotting with a Garlean but it was not as they had thought. Wolfsong was right all along: the woman was, in her own way, a victim though Hroch would never admit to such aloud. In the end it all boiled down to family and while his father was missing and Daena's was dead, hers was being held like an animal in the nearby Castrum. Just as she had unwittingly ruined their plans to retrieve the ceruleum, they had interrupted negotiations to see her father freed safely and if they did not act it could very well cost an innocent man his life.
The thought of infiltrating a Castrum did not sit well with Hroch. There were too many things that could go wrong with the handful of them marching into a Garlean stronghold and that was assuming it was not a trap to begin with. The woman spoke earnestly and there was great sorrow and desperation in voice and eyes alike; Wolfsong was quick to vouch for her and guarded her fiercely, and for that there must have been a reason. Yet Daena, for all the rage she held towards the woman, came to offer her help as well. A consensus was made even if Hroch did not approve; the Resistance would take on Castrum Marinum and, if the Gods were willing, save Brenden Deneith's life.
The sun was already high when Hroch bothered to look and Daena was still standing still as stone. He was not certain if he had slept on his feet through what had remained of the night but they ached; the whole of him ached in a way he had not felt since the night his mother was put to the fire. The flame had gone out at some point and left behind a broad mound of ash still gently smoking beneath the Thanalan sun.
"We should go," he said eventually. The words did little enough to please her, of course, for she still stared long and hard at the shape that was once her father. The lines in her arms tensed and her fists balled into fists but, after a time, she nodded.
"Aye," croaked Daena Ghurn, only daughter of Ruva. "Aye, we should."
==================================
The others were waiting for them in Vesper Bay, chatting up strategy and schemes. The Castrum would not be easy to approach, much less break in to. Wolfsong had managed to procure disguises for himself and Roen but the rest of the would have to keep back, follow along when the path was cleared. Xydane had been tasked in taking up the rear for while Hroch and Daena were capable in their own ways, they could likely not stand for long against Garlean weaponry. Even from below the cliffside that coiled up into Garlean territory, they could hear the hum and grind of magitek machinations stomping about the grounds.
Not to mention the sounds of combat. Disguised as they were, there was little hope that Gharen nor Roen could make it very far without someone being alerted to their presence. He huddled beneath the stone overhang, listening to the clang of swords and the strangled cries of men being cut. Daena fidgeted beside him, seeming a little more energetic than before. He could not imagine she had allowed herself any rest throughout the night but he was, after all, a child of Ruva: with the task at hand she would never allow herself to appear weak nor weary. She paced, flinging the occasional glance up to where Xydane was awaiting the signal to proceed.
At least, that was what she had been doing up until she sighed in frustration and stepped up beside Hroch. He did a double take when she looked his way, startled by the odd intensity in her eyes. They had been friends since the first time they met on that sunny day weeks ago, beating down slimy orobon in the river to the tune of Ruva's barking and howling. More often than not that barking had been directed at Hroch, ever paranoid that the older boy would make a move on his firey-haired daughter despite his obvious apprehension.
He could hear him then, that hoarse bear growl of a voice: Sixteen summers, ya shirtless dog! Iff'n ye so much as think to put yer worthless mitts on her, Rhalgr save ye, I'll have 'em stuffed 'n mounted fer all t'see!
It was not Ruva who was speaking, however. Daena was still staring at him strangely, her brows knit tight as if in concentration. She was not looking at his eyes though, no; she was looking at his lips, at his mouth that was slowly growing agape at the growing panic in his heart.
"Iff'n this ends up bein' the last thing we do," she was muttering. "C'mere, you."
They did not hear Xydane calling for them from above.
Suns later.
This is all wrong. It was Aylard's voice in his head grumbling low like gravel on gravel, disembodied and all the more disappointed for it. Hroch could almost see the weathered old man standing there beside them with his face set into a stony scowl. Look at it, boy. Look at it. Where's the song? Where's the drink? 'Tis a man fought proud all his life. Where's the fire to send him home?
Gharen and the Garlean took off for the night despite Hroch's protests. Though it took some talking, even Hroch began to understand Wolfsong's concerns: he had actually dared attack Wolfsong for protecting the woman, after all. He hardly remembered it but the bruises and scrapes were there from when he was tossed around the cave like the fool he was and Daena had actually been rendered unconscious thanks to Gharen's choke hold. There was no chance he nor Daena could have taken on a warrior like Gharen Wolfsong yet they tried anyway. Ruva had lain murdered after they'd gone to catch the Garlean and they were left seeing red.
In the end, it changed nothing. Gharen got his way, the Garlean (Roen as she was called) was left uncut, Xydane offered his condolences before leaving to sniff out possibilities, and Shaelen eventually stormed off hunt down maps and schematics. Hroch and Daena were alone in their cave hidden at the back of a place known to be called Lost Hope and so the task of grieving fell to them.
The pyre was small and clumsily built. Both of the youths had seen their fair share but those were built by men and women who had seen and built hundred more. Every body they wrapped and mounted upon the flames made the motions all the more familiar. They were not children by age but by inexperience, for the lives spent fighting for the Resistance were measured not with years but with the number of friends they had laid to rest.
Daena wept in silence when she wept at all, angry lines that came down her cheeks in waves she seemed desperate to ignore. Hroch stood by her side while the flames eventually licked up and embraced the body offered to it. It occurred to him at one point that there were songs to be sung but he did not know Ruva, and he did not know how to sing besides. Now and again he noticed Daena's lips moving but she was ever silent and he assumed she did not know, either. He did not think to ask and eventually decided that she might not hear him even if he did.
So Hroch Greyarm stood at her side and watched the fabric char and crumble, watched the body of his father's most trusted friend turn to ash. And even as the moon ran its course arcing through the stars overhead, Hroch waited and watched. She stood as the warrior she was groomed to be, proud and defiant against sorrow and weariness. Strong and beautiful and perfect, a true daughter of Ala Mhigo.
After the scuffle had died down and everyone had come to their senses, Roen was given an opportunity to explain herself. She did not deny being a Garlean nor plotting with a Garlean but it was not as they had thought. Wolfsong was right all along: the woman was, in her own way, a victim though Hroch would never admit to such aloud. In the end it all boiled down to family and while his father was missing and Daena's was dead, hers was being held like an animal in the nearby Castrum. Just as she had unwittingly ruined their plans to retrieve the ceruleum, they had interrupted negotiations to see her father freed safely and if they did not act it could very well cost an innocent man his life.
The thought of infiltrating a Castrum did not sit well with Hroch. There were too many things that could go wrong with the handful of them marching into a Garlean stronghold and that was assuming it was not a trap to begin with. The woman spoke earnestly and there was great sorrow and desperation in voice and eyes alike; Wolfsong was quick to vouch for her and guarded her fiercely, and for that there must have been a reason. Yet Daena, for all the rage she held towards the woman, came to offer her help as well. A consensus was made even if Hroch did not approve; the Resistance would take on Castrum Marinum and, if the Gods were willing, save Brenden Deneith's life.
The sun was already high when Hroch bothered to look and Daena was still standing still as stone. He was not certain if he had slept on his feet through what had remained of the night but they ached; the whole of him ached in a way he had not felt since the night his mother was put to the fire. The flame had gone out at some point and left behind a broad mound of ash still gently smoking beneath the Thanalan sun.
"We should go," he said eventually. The words did little enough to please her, of course, for she still stared long and hard at the shape that was once her father. The lines in her arms tensed and her fists balled into fists but, after a time, she nodded.
"Aye," croaked Daena Ghurn, only daughter of Ruva. "Aye, we should."
==================================
The others were waiting for them in Vesper Bay, chatting up strategy and schemes. The Castrum would not be easy to approach, much less break in to. Wolfsong had managed to procure disguises for himself and Roen but the rest of the would have to keep back, follow along when the path was cleared. Xydane had been tasked in taking up the rear for while Hroch and Daena were capable in their own ways, they could likely not stand for long against Garlean weaponry. Even from below the cliffside that coiled up into Garlean territory, they could hear the hum and grind of magitek machinations stomping about the grounds.
Not to mention the sounds of combat. Disguised as they were, there was little hope that Gharen nor Roen could make it very far without someone being alerted to their presence. He huddled beneath the stone overhang, listening to the clang of swords and the strangled cries of men being cut. Daena fidgeted beside him, seeming a little more energetic than before. He could not imagine she had allowed herself any rest throughout the night but he was, after all, a child of Ruva: with the task at hand she would never allow herself to appear weak nor weary. She paced, flinging the occasional glance up to where Xydane was awaiting the signal to proceed.
At least, that was what she had been doing up until she sighed in frustration and stepped up beside Hroch. He did a double take when she looked his way, startled by the odd intensity in her eyes. They had been friends since the first time they met on that sunny day weeks ago, beating down slimy orobon in the river to the tune of Ruva's barking and howling. More often than not that barking had been directed at Hroch, ever paranoid that the older boy would make a move on his firey-haired daughter despite his obvious apprehension.
He could hear him then, that hoarse bear growl of a voice: Sixteen summers, ya shirtless dog! Iff'n ye so much as think to put yer worthless mitts on her, Rhalgr save ye, I'll have 'em stuffed 'n mounted fer all t'see!
It was not Ruva who was speaking, however. Daena was still staring at him strangely, her brows knit tight as if in concentration. She was not looking at his eyes though, no; she was looking at his lips, at his mouth that was slowly growing agape at the growing panic in his heart.
"Iff'n this ends up bein' the last thing we do," she was muttering. "C'mere, you."
They did not hear Xydane calling for them from above.
![[Image: nowornever.png]](http://fuzzysock.net/ffxiv/nowornever.png)
![[Image: d_footer.png]](http://cuideag.com/ffxiv/resources/d_footer.png)
