It was as if a large spear point made of stone and ice had been stabbed into the mountain. Roen stared up at its apex from below the ground within the cave that was The Fury’s Gaze. The etched carving of the three spears on the stone--the symbol of Halone--only seemed visible to a pair of keen eyes or to those pilgrims who specifically sought out this place to pay homage to the Goddess of War.
Roen too had come to the cavern to look upon the Stone of Halone, although she had no prayers to offer. Being raised in Garlemald, she had never been taught to worship the Twelve, or any other gods. And yet, since her arrival in Eorzea, she had witnessed many good people who drew strength from their faith in their times of need.
Was that why she had come to The Fury’s Gaze? For strength? For hope? For answers?
The cold silent stone offered none as she was left to stare at the rippling reflection of herself upon the shallow pool of water that collected beneath the pointed massive stalactite.
"I don't really believe in the Twelve, if you must know, Halone included.â€
He had said long ago when she had asked him about his patron deity. Nero was loath to admit to any sort of worship, but of all the Twelve, the patron goddess of Ishgard frequented his lips the most.
“I don't revere her. I find the concept of guardian deities laughable.â€
Roen was not sure why her steps had always led her here when the thoughts of him came. Perhaps it was the dichotomy that Halone represented, for in that, he and Halone were so similar.
“But I respect what she represents.†His voice weaved through her thoughts effortlessly. “The idea her existence supposedly propagates. She's the mistress of war and the mover of glaciers. Cold, steady determination for the latter, and explosive, fiery wrath for the former.â€
The paladin glanced to her right, where she could nearly picture the man; his soot-black hair with orange highlights hanging low over his eyes as he came to stand next to her, crossing his arms the way he always did. He too looked up at the three spears. “If the Twelve really existed, what kind of perspective does the duality of her being bring her, I wonder?†he pondered aloud. He always did seem to enjoy philosophical debates. “Does the blood of war tarnish Her sheets of ice? Does the lethargy of that ice insult the idea of war?â€
Roen stared at the ghostly image, even as the smuggler offered her his trademark smirk. “Make no mistake, I don't believe in her in the same way that I don't believe in flying basilisks turning airships into stone. But I think she and I would get along well."
His ice blue gaze lingered on her a moment longer, before life and light faded from his eyes. His color drained away, as did his buoyant expression. The paladin was frozen in place as she watched his smiling visage turn into an ashen figure of a dead man.
“I did not know it until that sun, but he wanted to die.â€
The memory of Kiht Jakkya’s words seemed to shatter the sheet of ice that held her thoughts hostage.
The Keeper had long departed from this place of worship, though the exchange between the huntress and the paladin still echoed in Roen’s mind, much as it had within the cavern walls when they spoke. Her friend was shocked to find her here within the frozen cave of Coerthas, for the Miqo’te had come to pay pilgrimage to Halone for her own reasons. But her worry for the paladin was clearly written on her face, as was a lingering shadow of guilt.
Kiht had feared that Roen blamed her for what happened in Aleport, for forcing the paladin into a position where she had to kill someone. Only, Roen knew that choice could only be made by none other than herself.
“I know I did what I had to,†the paladin admitted even though regret laced her every word.
“You chose a ground to stand on, but you thought it would be different.†Kiht shook her head. “I apologize, Roen, I wish there was a way for it to be what you had envisioned. I felt you deserved it as you had pursued it so willfully. But things are hardly ever so dark and light. Most things are in between.â€
To that Roen answered only with a hardened look. “There is nothing in between about death, Kiht. What I did to him, it was murder. I killed him. Unarmed. Hurt. Cornered.†The paladin felt a shiver run down her spine with that admittance. “I killed him, Kiht.â€
“One to save a hundred.†His voice whispered in her ear again. “A hundred to save a thousand.â€
“He was not giving you much choice.†The huntress scowled. “He threatened after he had done so much wrong. The Hells were you supposed to do? Ignore it? Tell me, how many people did he save with the deaths he caused?â€
“Those are naught but echoes of the same things that I tell myself, again and again.†Roen shook her head, her voice turning quiet with her confession. “But it absolves me not. It does not set things to rights inside my heart.â€
“Because no matter what, you had once loved him…?â€
She had no answers for her friend. It was all Roen could do to don the stoic mask once more. But the guise was becoming easier each time. The paladin could see that Kiht spotted the shift as well, for her friend said no more on it. The Miqo’te exchanged some news about Gharen and Osric, and spoke of others who cared and were looking for her. After a quiet encouragement to reach out to those left behind, the Keeper huntress left Roen, reassured that she would be able to visit the paladin again.
Roen turned her eyes once more to the three spears carved into the stone overhead. A relentless warrior with a bronze greatshield, that was how Halone was depicted in most paintings and books. And yet the sharp piercing spears were what represented her.
They were weapons made to kill, not protect. She was the Mover of Glaciers and the Mistress of War. She represented determination and wrath. Halone represented two seemingly opposing ideals.
Was her own staunch adherence to virtue wholly one sided that she did not allow for any other lesser choices to be made? Did such idealism truly have no place in this world? Was it not her refusal to acknowledge the need for violence to end violence that brought about the tragic conclusion at Aleport?
Nero had believed it with all his heart, and Roen had opposed it with every fiber of her being. Yet it gnawed at her still--this idea of a "greater good" achieved through bloodshed. If Nero had even been partially right, she had not--could not--consider it.
At least not back then. Back when the man she loved still had a beating heart. Even now, despite the regret that weighed upon her soul, Roen could not deny that she did what had to be done. And yet…
What might sparing him his life have wrought?
She would never know.
Roen too had come to the cavern to look upon the Stone of Halone, although she had no prayers to offer. Being raised in Garlemald, she had never been taught to worship the Twelve, or any other gods. And yet, since her arrival in Eorzea, she had witnessed many good people who drew strength from their faith in their times of need.
Was that why she had come to The Fury’s Gaze? For strength? For hope? For answers?
The cold silent stone offered none as she was left to stare at the rippling reflection of herself upon the shallow pool of water that collected beneath the pointed massive stalactite.
"I don't really believe in the Twelve, if you must know, Halone included.â€
He had said long ago when she had asked him about his patron deity. Nero was loath to admit to any sort of worship, but of all the Twelve, the patron goddess of Ishgard frequented his lips the most.
“I don't revere her. I find the concept of guardian deities laughable.â€
Roen was not sure why her steps had always led her here when the thoughts of him came. Perhaps it was the dichotomy that Halone represented, for in that, he and Halone were so similar.
“But I respect what she represents.†His voice weaved through her thoughts effortlessly. “The idea her existence supposedly propagates. She's the mistress of war and the mover of glaciers. Cold, steady determination for the latter, and explosive, fiery wrath for the former.â€
The paladin glanced to her right, where she could nearly picture the man; his soot-black hair with orange highlights hanging low over his eyes as he came to stand next to her, crossing his arms the way he always did. He too looked up at the three spears. “If the Twelve really existed, what kind of perspective does the duality of her being bring her, I wonder?†he pondered aloud. He always did seem to enjoy philosophical debates. “Does the blood of war tarnish Her sheets of ice? Does the lethargy of that ice insult the idea of war?â€
Roen stared at the ghostly image, even as the smuggler offered her his trademark smirk. “Make no mistake, I don't believe in her in the same way that I don't believe in flying basilisks turning airships into stone. But I think she and I would get along well."
His ice blue gaze lingered on her a moment longer, before life and light faded from his eyes. His color drained away, as did his buoyant expression. The paladin was frozen in place as she watched his smiling visage turn into an ashen figure of a dead man.
“I did not know it until that sun, but he wanted to die.â€
The memory of Kiht Jakkya’s words seemed to shatter the sheet of ice that held her thoughts hostage.
The Keeper had long departed from this place of worship, though the exchange between the huntress and the paladin still echoed in Roen’s mind, much as it had within the cavern walls when they spoke. Her friend was shocked to find her here within the frozen cave of Coerthas, for the Miqo’te had come to pay pilgrimage to Halone for her own reasons. But her worry for the paladin was clearly written on her face, as was a lingering shadow of guilt.
Kiht had feared that Roen blamed her for what happened in Aleport, for forcing the paladin into a position where she had to kill someone. Only, Roen knew that choice could only be made by none other than herself.
“I know I did what I had to,†the paladin admitted even though regret laced her every word.
“You chose a ground to stand on, but you thought it would be different.†Kiht shook her head. “I apologize, Roen, I wish there was a way for it to be what you had envisioned. I felt you deserved it as you had pursued it so willfully. But things are hardly ever so dark and light. Most things are in between.â€
To that Roen answered only with a hardened look. “There is nothing in between about death, Kiht. What I did to him, it was murder. I killed him. Unarmed. Hurt. Cornered.†The paladin felt a shiver run down her spine with that admittance. “I killed him, Kiht.â€
“One to save a hundred.†His voice whispered in her ear again. “A hundred to save a thousand.â€
“He was not giving you much choice.†The huntress scowled. “He threatened after he had done so much wrong. The Hells were you supposed to do? Ignore it? Tell me, how many people did he save with the deaths he caused?â€
“Those are naught but echoes of the same things that I tell myself, again and again.†Roen shook her head, her voice turning quiet with her confession. “But it absolves me not. It does not set things to rights inside my heart.â€
“Because no matter what, you had once loved him…?â€
She had no answers for her friend. It was all Roen could do to don the stoic mask once more. But the guise was becoming easier each time. The paladin could see that Kiht spotted the shift as well, for her friend said no more on it. The Miqo’te exchanged some news about Gharen and Osric, and spoke of others who cared and were looking for her. After a quiet encouragement to reach out to those left behind, the Keeper huntress left Roen, reassured that she would be able to visit the paladin again.
Roen turned her eyes once more to the three spears carved into the stone overhead. A relentless warrior with a bronze greatshield, that was how Halone was depicted in most paintings and books. And yet the sharp piercing spears were what represented her.
They were weapons made to kill, not protect. She was the Mover of Glaciers and the Mistress of War. She represented determination and wrath. Halone represented two seemingly opposing ideals.
Was her own staunch adherence to virtue wholly one sided that she did not allow for any other lesser choices to be made? Did such idealism truly have no place in this world? Was it not her refusal to acknowledge the need for violence to end violence that brought about the tragic conclusion at Aleport?
Nero had believed it with all his heart, and Roen had opposed it with every fiber of her being. Yet it gnawed at her still--this idea of a "greater good" achieved through bloodshed. If Nero had even been partially right, she had not--could not--consider it.
At least not back then. Back when the man she loved still had a beating heart. Even now, despite the regret that weighed upon her soul, Roen could not deny that she did what had to be done. And yet…
What might sparing him his life have wrought?
She would never know.
