Sparks flew as hammer hit heated metal, the normally rigid substance yielding to the smith's will under sufficient heat and concussive force. He had only used the material once before, having spent suns just to craft a blade from it. Now he was seeking to make a whole suit of armor out of it - a task he knew would take a long while. And yet the armorsmith felt it was needed, nay necessary, for what lay ahead of him. The armor he had crafted before had served him well, but he needed new equipment for a new page in his life.
Chachanji's violet eyes drifted up from the forge in the front half of his room, to the walls papered in a childish pattern of chocobos prancing. No, perhaps not to the walls itself nor the wallpaper that adorned it, but to a document that hung there in front of him. A document that was framed and mounted with the utmost care like a fisherman might with a prized catch. He had been excited enough when he had received it, happier still when he was allowed to keep it "for his records."
Even looking at it brought memories of that conversation back to the little Lalafell's mind as he returned to shaping the metal in front of him. He had meant to come see Ser Crofte after he had completed his task, but life and his own trepidation had stayed his hand. Snippets of the conversation he had with the former-Sultansworn-in-training Romy Leonhardt flitted through his mind betwixt the falls of the hammer. She had been dressing down a new recruit, and then voicing her frustrations at having been compared to the youngster. She had spoken of it before, of how Ser Crofte had spoke poorly of her and ultimately brought the female recruit to the decision to leave the order.
That hadn't sat right with the youngest of the Gegenji children, perhaps due to his desires to have Coateleque as the third mentor to join the ranks of Ser Warren and Ms. Roen. In his youthful eyes, she always seemed to exude an air of calm, of proper and tactful behavior. The fiery-haired Highlander always seemed to know what to say, whether in a civil discussion or verbally lambasting a man a little too big for his smallclothes in the middle of the Quicksand. Nothing seemed to shake her, and she always seemed to know what to do to solve the matter at hand.
The idea that she would say something so harsh about one of her own without provocation or purpose befuddled him, and he had stated that he would approach her and ask for her side of the tale. Sticking his nose into what might not be any of his business for the simple desire to keep the 'Sworn on the pedestal he had so eagerly placed her on. The idea of her image being tarnished was yet another reason he was hesitant to see her, and also one for him to make that journey. In the end, he found himself timidly approaching her office.
From the hall, he had overheard bits and pieces of the conversation within. Between Ser Crofte and some gentleman the Lalafell didn't know. They spoke of letters and alcohol and business, of Ul'dah and the threats to it, of a man by the name of Redgrave and also the gentleman Chachan had seen Roen in the presence of at the Winter Ball. He had not meant to overhear such things, but the heated exchange through the open door made it difficult to ignore it. Difficult to ignore the fact that Ser Crofte was not as infallible as he had once thought.
When the Miqo'te left, Chachanji's trepidation arose again and stayed his hand. It was in that moment of hesitation that the same recruit from before had strode through the doorway to relay his account of the day. Something involving paperwork, the young Squire's manner of speaking made understanding his intentions difficult at best. Ser Crofte had sounded equally perplexed by his mannerisms, and had been quick to dismiss him to whatever personal affairs he had to attend to.
And then it was just him and the open door that led into Ser Coatleque Crofte's office. He wanted to flee almost as much as he wanted to approach, and that two-mindedness resulted in a timid peek around the door frame. He was not unlike a rabbit peering out from the safe depths of its burrow, seeking to see if it was safe to venture out into the world. He had managed to wrangle up the courage to come this far, but the Sultansworn had seemed so... busy. His already tenuous nerves were being tested, in no small part due to the bits of the first conversation he had heard.
Coatleque had been sitting at her desk then, Chachanji remembered clearly enough as he carefully moved the hunk of metal back to the forge for reheating. She had been writing something in a slow and deliberate manner, perhaps a report or something equally important. Whatever it was, she kept her attentions on it and for a brief moment the Lalafell wondered if perhaps she hadn't noticed his timid peek inside her office. He briefly entertained the thought of slipping away and acting like he had never come in the first place.
"Yes, may I help you?"
Her words put a quick end to that mental flight of fancy. The suddenness of it had caused the Dunesfolk to flinch a little at it, as if she had snapped a whip at him. Ensnared him into a conversation that he could no longer retreat from. Or could he?
 "A-ah... S-ser Crofte. Is... is this a bad time? I wanted ta come talk ta ya... 'bout th' Trial but..." His words were shaky and meandering, prodding for a potential way out of the situation. He had glanced over his shoulder then, as well, as if expecting and almost hoping that another supplicant would appear as if from the aether behind him and draw her attentions away from him. When the aether refused to oblige him, he continued with a feeble: "Ya seem... real busy this sun..."
Coatleque had continued her writing for a moment or two, before finishing whatever sentence she had been penning and setting the quill back within its accompanying inkwell. Her eyes had closed then and her fingertips found their way to her temple, giving it a gentle massage. When she finally looked up at the timid Lalafell, her expression was a more pleasant one and her tone not so harsh as before.
"Ah, yes, Master Gegenji was it? It has been some time since we last spoke."
Being referred so casually as "Master" had caused him to look away again bashfully, Chachanji remembered as he was bathed in the heat of the forge. So many folks seemed quick to refer to him as "Master" or "Sir" or even "Ser" despite his lack of any such title. While he was certainly eager to have such accolades, the youngest Gegenji was equally aware that he had not earned such things as of yet. He had said as such then, as well.
 "A-ah, n-no 'Master.' I'm jus' Chachan. Ain't done nothin' ta deserve no titles," he had stuttered, fiddling with the collar of his jacket even as he turned his violet gaze back towards the lady 'Sworn. "'n yeah... we ain't talked since Ms. Hat's cheerin' up party."
The party; that had been quite the event. Chachanji's "adopted" older sister Leanne had been at the forefront of several bad turns at Nymeia's wheel and had been spiraling deeper into depression. Those in charge at the Coral Sea had stepped in to help once it became apparent how poorly she was faring, but her "younger brother" had wanted to do more. Using what remained of his winnings from his fluke Grindstone victory, he had reserved a section of the Bismarck for a party to cheer her up. And, thankfully, many of Leanne's friends had turned out and the whole thing had been what the little Lalafell could fairly confidently call a success.
"Though... from th' sounds'a it... ya might need one yerself," he had added as her conversation with the Miqo'te flitted through his mind. "Sounds like ya got a lot on yer plate."
At his words, she had leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. Her eyes flitted towards something in the corner that was outside his gaze. He would see it later, though - a ring of rum left there from some point earlier, perhaps from the conversation itself. Whenever it had happened, it had brought a sigh to her lips. Chachanji had quickly identified a potential out and leaped on it.
" I... can come back later if'n it's a bad time."
"Such is the life we lead. I do not have the luxury of free time," Ser Crofte had responded almost immediately, in that even tone of hers. "You are here now though, and I can speak if you wish."
Inwardly, Chachanji would've been happy enough to retreat back into his "burrow." His fingers had still been timidly gripping the doorframe, belying his fear to venture further in. And yet, the Dunesfolk recalled as he withdrew the heated metal from the forge, he could also sense the burden on the female Sultansworn's shoulders. It had gnawed at his sensibilities and gave him strength of a different sort.
"W-well, I'd like ta tell ya what I learned from th' Trial, but..." he had begun with, though he paused briefly as she gazed thoughtfully at him. He had felt his throat tighten a bit and had been forced to swallowed once before continuing with his... risky suggestion. "Mayhaps we can jus'... relax fer a bit first? Make it look it like yer in a real important meetin' wit me so ya can get some quiet time?"
"Confidence, Master Gegenji," she had interjected firmly, lowering her hands such that they were parallel to each other atop her desk. "You are here for a purpose, yes? You must see that through, not stammer and excuse your way past it."
Her use of the words "stammer" and "excuse" had stung, causing a flush of embarrassment to start to creep onto the young Lalafell's cheeks. A similar flush burned there now as Chachanji thought on it, seeking to force it away with heavy hammer-strikes on the metal in front of him. He hadn't been trying to make an excuse, he told himself firmly as metal collided with metal. He could tell how hard of a job she had just from the snippets of conversation he had overheard and the way she sat in her chair, and he empathized with that. He had just wanted to help, and he had been just as quick to say such then as well.
"I... I got plenty'a confidence, Ser Crofte!" he had countered forcefully, childishly. "It's jus'... ya look like ya could use a break rather'n jus' listen ta another person yammer on, y'know? I jus' wanted ta offer that, if'n ya were interested."
He had paused for a beat, mirrored by a hammer-fall in the present, before continuing.
"I did say that I'd listen ta yer pro'lems too, back when ya first tasked me wit th' Trial."
Coatleque had closed her eyes again at that, tilting her head downward slightly and taking a slow breath. When those eyes opened again, they returned to looking at the timid Lalafell. With her head still lowered as such, it was if she were looking at him over the rim of some invisible, thick pair of glasses. The look was enough to send Chachanji back a step in mild alarm.
" ... A-am I oversteppin'?"
"Your concern is noted, Master Gegenji," she responded neatly enough, still looking over at him like an upset librarian. "This is not about me, however. There is a time and place for everything. This time, and this place, are not for that."
The lady 'Sworn had stood then, turning away from him. One hand alit atop the back of her chair and she turned just enough to look over her shoulder at him. It was a gaze that told him clearly enough that this was to be a matter of his business here, not on what he felt she needed right now. He had certainly overstepped, he had realized, and the flush had deepened a bit with shame. However, if Ser Crofte had noticed it, she made no mention of it. She was completely business.
 "Mister Gegenji. Why do you want to be a Paladin?"
"Ah, right," Chachanji had managed with a little surprised blink of his violet orbs before timidly pattering into the office. Standing at the door frame seemed to be no longer an option, considering her gaze on him. Beating around the bush seemed right out, too. It was time to reveal the results of his Trial, whether his nerves approved of it or not.
"Well, I should pro'ly admit... at first, it was jus' fer th' hero factor," he had admitted, looking away and his fingertips nervously intertwining and dancing with one another. "Ever since I was a wee tyke, I'd daydream of fightin' dragons 'n savin' princesses 'n stuff. When I came ta Ul'dah... folks like ya 'n Ser Warren 'n Ms. Roen... ya all seemed ta fit that ideal..."
Coatleque had seemed unmoved by his admittance, standing resolutely still. It made the little Lalafell wonder if he had erred by voicing this, and if she was even listening or just humoring him at that point. Whichever it was, the response that followed had seemed to lean neither way.
"And you have learned something quite different then?"
Another moment of silence as Gegenji swallowed away his nervousness.
"But, well... yer Trial got me ta thinkin'," he had continued, slowly building up more confidence as he spoke. "'n talkin' ta Ser Warren 'n Ms. Roen... I felt that th' original reason was... shallow. Childish."
Realizing what he had just said, he straightened a bit and sought to cover his tracks a little, using the words said to him by Ser Warren during their conversation on the very subject.
"'Course, there ain't nothin' wrong wit wantin' ta halp people fer th' sake'a it... but..." He paused again. He had done a lot of that, Chachanji mused with a bit of embarrassment as he continued to hammer the sheet of metal into shape. "I also found myself still wantin' ta be a Paladin despite it. There was somethin' else pushin' me t'wards it."
He had folded his muscly little arms over his burly little chest at that point, his violet gaze falling to the floor of Crofte's office. It had been a niggling thing when he had spoke to Warren after their sparring session. He understood that there was something else there and that it was important that he figure it out. However, he didn't truly understand until the second meeting, the second question posed to his second mentor.
 "I think it was talkin' ta Ms. Roen that got me ta realize it," he had explained, remembering the reasons that were presented to him on those two separate suns. "Ser Warren wanted ta be a Paladin ta protect someone. Ms. Roen wanted ta because she had lost someone. That... struck a bit'uva chord wit me. It wasn't th' same, but it was close."
He hadn't noticed it fully then, but it had been around that point that Coatleque had turned to face him. She too had crossed her arms over her chest, though her gaze remained fixed upon him. She continued to say nothing, however, seeming content enough to let the little Lalafell spill his guts out. The next part, Chachanji noted with a deep sigh, had been the hardest part.
"Ser Crofte... I'm from Doma." Such an admission had been hard for him. The last time he had so openly mentioned it, it had sparked an argument between a haughty Lalafell woman and a Roegadyn named Dogberry. Ever since, he had been afraid of being too vocal about his heritage... yet he felt it was necessary to mention here to get the Highlander woman to understand. "'n I was here chasin' me dreams when Garlemald razed it. When I heard 'bout it... I was terrified. Not jus' fer losin' a home, but losin' me family."
It was like a busted dam at that point, the words flowing forth without heed. Coatleque might as well have not been there at that point. Those worries and concerns and fears all billowed out of that small Lalafellan form, and they wouldn't stop for anything.
"Me family made it out, thankfully enough. I saw them when they came 'ere seekin' refuge... but I could still remember that fear. Then things afterward... Mel-chan's aether problems... Ms. Jancis' kidnappin'... they reminded me of that fear. 'n I realized..."
He had paused again at that point, finally turning his gaze back up towards the Sultansworn, seeing that she was looking fully at him now. It had frightened him a bit, made him worry about her reaction to his Doman heritage. And yet, he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. Not until he had finished.
"That's why I want ta be a Paladin," he had stated simply, with a resolute sadness in his voice. "I want ta protect people... so they don't have ta feel that fear. Fear of'a lost home, of a lost family, of a lost friend."
There had been one final pause there, and the echoing hammer-blows gave homage to the recollection. To the answer Chachanji had found during his Trial. To the answer he had presented to Coatleque.
"That's me Purpose."
The lady 'Sworn had started tapping her finger along the side of her arm at some point during the spiel. It continued for a bit even after the Lalafell had finished, that simple motion causing a small feeling of dread to well in the pit of Chachanji's stomach. It only started to unravel as the slightest hint of a smile crossed her features, and she finally spoke once more.
"Indeed. I believe you do have what it takes."
"I can... only hope so," the little Dunesfolk had managed in response to her words. "It ain't a good feelin', that fear."
Coatleque had pulled out her chair again by that point, motioning for him to partake of the seat in front of her desk even as she sat down herself. The same chair he had sat in when he had first approached her for mentor-ship, where she had first tasked him with this Trial of Purpose. Chachanji didn't make such comparisons until afterward, though, since he had felt rather drained after letting all that out of his system. Instead, he had merely toddled his way into the chair and clambered into it, just glad to be off his feet. He might've collapsed otherwise.
"Now you understand, Mister Gegenji." It was 'Mister' now instead of 'Master', he had noted. Even though he hadn't felt he had earned the title, the sudden step down had been a bit of a stinging blow. One that left him worrying about the outcome of the conversation. "Each one of us has lost something, in some way. We have all felt that sting of fear. Of hopelessness."
 "We do not take up our shields for ourselves," she had continued to explain, speaking perhaps from deep personal experience. "We do not take up our swords for glory. We wear this mantle, this weight of responsibility, for the benefit of those who cannot."
She had paused after that admittance, taking another slow breath. It wasn't one of irritation or settling of nerves, though. It seemed almost like a lament, a lament for whatever thoughts that had crossed her mind during her statement. While he was uncertain if there was more, Chachanji had felt words come to his lips unheeded before spilling out in the silence.
"I... I think I knew that from th' start," he had admitted, his fingers tight on the edge of the armrests. "I jus'... never realized what I had lost. I had originally jus' given up th' life me parents wanted fer me in Doma... only ta have Doma itself taken from me."
Chachanji paused in his smithing, remembering the words that he said next. Oddly fitting that the memory would strike him now, considering what he was doing. Perhaps that was why he had felt inclined to frame that piece of recent history on the wall above his forge, so that he wouldn't forget it. It had simply seemed like the right place for it at the time.
"Th' desire was there... it was jus'... untempered. Unshaped. Like a metal ingot."
"And now that you do know, now that you can share in that fear," she had responded neatly, "your purpose is clear, aye?"
"Yeah," the Lalafell had responded with a slow shake of his head as he continued. "I don't want no one ta suffer anythin' like that. I was right in a way... in me fight wit me Papa, I mean. It wasn't enough ta jus' make th' weapons 'n armor that protect people. There's folks out there that can't afford it, can't use it... 'n they still need halp."
Ser Crofte had simply nodded once.
"So I wanna wield it in their stead..." Chachanji had reaffirmed, the words he had left home with carrying a new sort of importance to them now. "Ta try 'n do what I can ta keep them from losin' somethin' important."
"What we do, Master Gegenji, is not for the faint of heart," Coatleque had warned. "Many of those you help cannot fathom the oaths we make."
"That's... that's fine," he had answered, shaking his head again. "I don't need 'em ta understand. I jus' want 'em ta be safe."
"It is not just understanding," she had corrected. "You will be maligned, reviled, spit upon, all because of what you represent." She paused briefly then to let the magnitude of her words settle on him. "Can you still defend those who would hate you?"
"I... I do," came Chachanji's response, just as resolute as the last. "Even me enemies. That's why me sword has no bite, why I go ta th' Grindstone ta learn how ta knock out 'n disarm. People can't be halped if they're dead."
Other memories had slipped into his mind at that point. Two specific ones, in fact, and both quite inter-related. The first had been his first venture with the Coral Sea, seeking to rescue hapless hostages from some cult. Miss Iskierka had been so openly for the wholesale slaughter of the cultists, and the Elezen with them had agreed somewhat with her feelings. It happened again when they delved into a facility to cut the power to the cult's aether-draining devices. Where Chachanji had wanted to simply apprehend one of those in charge, another slit her throat.
"I've already gotten some... looks 'n disdain fer me approach..." he had admitted as those thoughts ran through his head, remembering the few voices that spoke out in agreement with him as he looked over his shoulder to the open door. "I think Ms. Jancis is one'a th' few that understand."
Coatleque had nodded again, the motion almost missed if not for the Lalafell's peripheral vision. She had reached for one of the drawers in her desk, wood grinding on wood as it was pulled open. She withdrew something from it and set it atop her desk, smoothing it out flat before reaching out for her quill. With a practiced hand, she had moved to write something down on whatever she had taken from her desk. It ended with a flourish at the bottom before the quill was returned to its pot.
"H-huh? Whassis?" Chachanji had asked as it was slid across the desk towards him. It was a document, the very document that he had framed above his forge now. There had been a linkpearl with it, too, glistening just as much as the still-wet ink on the paper. He had taken both blankly, still uncertain what was happening.
Ser Crofte was quick to explain.
"Ser Gegenji. By what authority is given to me via my Captain, I declare your first trial complete. Your answer has satisfied. Take this to Captain Jenlyns and he will give you your official title of Free Paladin of Ul'dah."
Everything seemed to freeze at that moment. Chachanji had almost thought he had misheard her, that his hopefully little mind had overlaid whatever she had said with what he had wanted to hear. And yet, there it was, all written in fresh ink on the paper in his hands. He had stared at it in astonishment, as if still not believing what he held in his hands.
"R-really?" he had squeaked, getting a simple blink in response from Coatleque.
"Yes, really. Your training is far from complete, however. I would still encourage you to seek Sers Castille and Deneith as you see fit. And..." she paused for a moment, perhaps remembering their first meeting more clearly than he had given her credit for earlier. "I shall also aid as I can."
"I... I will!" the Lalafell had responded in earnest, feeling fully revitalized as he hopped out of the chair and clutched the paper to his chest. Both the jacket and the document itself still held the smears of that motion, Chachanji noted with a wry grin. I still got lots ta learn! From everyone!" He nods vigorously. "I'll... I'll do it. I'll become someone who can protect ev'ryone."
"I have no doubt of that," she had agreed, finally breaking into a smile at his enthusiasm. A smile that the Lalafell noticed immediately. And reacted to just as quickly.
"Ah! Ya smiled!" he had yelped, pointing at her with a wide smile. He was infectuously happy at this point. "That's good. Ya should be able ta smile more."
"Hrmpf... I have been known to on occasion!" she had countered good-naturedly, before giving him a dismissive wave. "Go on then. But think on what we have discussed here. And remember what you have learned."
"I will!" Chachanji had chimed with another nod, turning to take his leave. He had only made it a couple steps towards the door before everything that had happened prior in the office this sun tumbled back in an attempt to dull his enthusiasm. Instead, he just looked over his shoulder again at the fiery-haired Highlander. "'n... that offer's still on th' table, Ser Crofte. If'n ya ever need ta get away... ta relax fer a bit or jus' have someone ta complain at... I got big ears fer a reason."
The little Lalafell had flicked at his ear for emphasis then, the cactuar earring that was ever-present there dancing about in an almost jovial fashion to match his chuckling. Coatleque had taken up her quill once more to return to the other work she had yet to do that sun, but paused at his words. She looked up at him one last time.
 "I shall keep your offer in mind, Ser Gegenji."
"Akay," he had said, giving her an energetic wave as he had left her office. "B'bye then, Ser Crofte!"
He had left her then, his energetic steps taking him quickly in search of Ser Jenlyns. A few eager questions and showing off of the document was enough to direct him to the Captain's office, and it wasn't long at all until Chachanji had left once more with an official Free Sworn title. Jenlyns had even been so kind as to let him keep the document as proof of his new station, which had led to its current position on his wall. The Dunesfolk grinned widely at it before turning his attentions back to the armor he was forging. At least, for a couple more hammer-strikes at least, until a thought crossed his mind.
"Ah... I never asked 'er 'bout Ser Romy..." he realized, holding his hammer up mid-strike. It hesitated there for a moment before returning to its rhythmic concussive ministrations on the sheet of Darksteel. "Ah well, I can always ask 'er later."
After all, Ser Crofte and the rest of the Sultansworn were just a linkpearl away...
~