Paladin's Proof [Closed - COMPLETE]

[Roen]

Roen was certain that Chachanji would win the race. There was a certain amount of pride that swelled in her chest as she saw him streak toward the Sultantree, Avenger leaving a long trail of dust in his wake. Roen spurred Goldwind onward in a full sprint toward the finish, but she was racing through an unpaved path, while Chachanji was on the main road--and much closer to the looming tree.

 

Except…the paladin found herself closing that gap. As she neared the road, she could see that the Lalafell youth had slumped in his seat, his head hung low. And Avenger had sensed the soured mood of the rider. and the young bird’s enthusiasm was waning to mirror that of Chachanji’s.

 

It took a moment before Roen realized why: Chachanji was glancing about his surroundings frantically. He had not made that last jump. Roen herself had to resort to chasing creatures to do it, and likely that prospect did not appeal to him after watching the result of her choices. And now, even as they neared the end of the race, the young Lalafell looked defeated. The paladin pursed her lips in thought, before a new grin tugged at her lips lopsidedly.

 

Goldwind let out a quizzical mrh as Roen tugged on the reins and veered them away from the direct path to the Sultantree. Instead, she guided her bird in a straight line toward the road that Chachanji and Avenger were on. With the younger rider’s slowing pace, Roen knew they had a chance of crossing the road just in front of her pupil.

 

Roen put two fingers between her lips and let out a sharp whistle when she and Goldwind came within hearing distance of the younger pair. “Chachanji! Think fast!”

 

With that she lowered herself close to Goldwind’s back, and her bird lowered its head, as if sensing what was about to happen. Either Chachanji had to be quick to react...

 

Else there was going to be a fantastic collision of two sprinting chocobos.

[Gegenji]

Chachanji hadn't even noticed Avenger's slowing pace, oblivious to anything but the looming Sultantree ahead and the utter lack of awesome jumping choices. His pout was legendary at this point, his lower lip jutting out grandiosely as he glanced left and right over and over again, hoping that he had missed something, anything he could use for that fifth and final jump. He was even debating doubling back and trying one of the beasties that Roen had settled on.

 

And it was that selfsame Hyur that snapped him out of his dreary dejection as her sharp whistle reached his ears. He glanced about wildly, though this time it was for the source of the sudden, harsh sound. His mentor's call turned his violet gaze towards her rapidly approaching form. A form that, as it closed, lowered its overall clearance level as if...

 

The little Lalafell had little time to dwell on exactly what Roen was doing. Reacting mostly on instinct, he yanked sharply on Avenger's reins and urged the little Chocobo into a sudden jump. The young bird warked in alarm at the sudden command, but obeyed nonetheless.

 

Time seemed to slow as the jump occurred, the two Chocobos occupying the same space in every dimension but the vertical. So close was the leap itself that Avenger's scaly toes brushed against Roen's back, the sharp talons and the bird's legs itself curled up tight in a desperate bid for a couple extra ilms of air. Then it was like stop motion as Avenger's forward foot extended again, reaching out for the familiarity of the road on the other side.

 

It landed solidly, Avenger's talons digging deep for purchase into the dirt. Another bounding step and the other foot did the same. Left... right... left, right. The stubborn little Chocobo found his footing and continued forward towards the Sultantree.

 

Meanwhile, astride the mount and looking quite shocked at what had just happened, was Chachanji.  He blinked once, twice. He glanced over his shoulder towards the form of his mentor who, even now, was guiding Goldwind back towards their proper objective. And the little Lalafell grinned widely before letting out an excited whoop and pumping a tiny fist into the air.

 

"That. Was. AWESOME!"

[Roen]

Chachanji’s gleeful hollering echoed into the afternoon sky, and Roen nearly joined him in his loud cheer. The jump was a close one; she felt Avenger’s feet brush up against her back and was grateful that the bird had enough sense to curl his talons inward. But as she saw them both land past her and dart toward the Sultantree, she could not help but grin from ear to ear. She turned Goldwind back around, her mount letting out a snort as it continued to give chase to the rider ahead of them.

 

But Roen found herself sitting back in her seat, relaxing into the saddle rather than the crouched racing pose she had held, as she pictured her younger self racing ahead of them. Was it twelve cycles ago? Or more? She remembered laughing and cheering into the cool wintry air as she cleared five jumps down a slippery wet slope in the mountains overlooking her family’s manse. Back then, she had imagined herself charging heroically into some battle, dodging obstacles along the way as she raced to save someone in need.

 

Of course that was back when her life was filled only with tall empty hallways, cold stone floors, stern words from her teachers, and the muted gaze of a mournful father who refused to meet her eyes. After her mother’s passing, a home that had been filled with love and laughter only gave hollow echoes to the distant memories of a life that once had been.

 

A child of less than ten-winters, Roen had taken to imagining heroic adventures beyond the vaulted ceilings and the towering walls. She took to riding, something that her mother had taught her, with fervor. She took up practicing sword fighting with the servants -- those who were kind enough to humor the girl who was eagerly swinging a wooden sword in the air. But it was racing down the hill her chocobo -- a valued Ishgardian import then -- that made her feel truly free.

 

A wistful smile lifted her expression as Roen’s attention returned back to the present... just in time to see Chachanji reach the Sultantree. Goldwind had given them quite the chase, even if the paladin had been lost in her own memories. Roen tugged on the reins as she came to a stop shortly behind them, beaming at her pupil.

 

“Well done, Chachanji!” She clapped as she hopped off Goldwind. “That jump was fantastic!” She approached the Lalafell and his bird, her hand clasped in front of her. “You and Avenger are certainly ready to race into any battle after that race. How do you feel?”

[Gegenji]

Chachanji was still both inwardly and outwardly squeeing over that last jump when Avenger crossed the "finish line," pulling lightly on the young bird's reins and turning to face his mentor with quite the delighted smile plastered on his features. Finishing first was almost an afterthought after that harrowing and hair-raising last second leap, though the little Lalafell would be remiss if he denied feeling at least a little bit of victorious tickle in doing so. It was just that jump overshadowed it quite a bit, as he was quick to gush over it once questioned on the matter.

 

"That... that was awesome!" Chachanji repeated with almost as much zeal before, gripping Avenger's reins tight in his little hands. While Roen was dismounted, the mounted Lalafell still only reached eye level with her, which made the excited glimmer in his violet orbs all the more apparent to her. Of course, his level of excitement was pretty apparent even without that subtle hint. "I was all sad 'bout not bein' able ta make that last jump and then ya were there 'n I jumped 'n... 'n... eeeeee..."

 

Avenger merely glanced over his feathered shoulder to look at his youthful rider, doing a sort of happy little dance in his saddle. The youngest Gegenji would've rode on that adrenaline high for quite some time if a stray thought hadn't occurred to him. By serving as the last jump, either the Hyur believed she could've easily overtaken him in the final stretch or she had thrown the race. While he wanted to believe in the former, considering how closely Goldwind had finished behind him, that latter threatened to dampen his good mood until he got it answered.

 

"Um... Miss... err... Miss Roen," he stammered a bit, both still a bit wound up from the excitement and nervous about asking the question. "Was it... was it akay fer ya ta do that? Ya totally coulda won if'n ya hadn't done that."

 

Chachanji had a bit of an inkling as to why she would've done it even before he presented the question. After all, he had been so insistent on learning from her because she had a kindness and caring that he felt was crucial to the kind of Paladin he wanted to be. Even throwing a race so that her pupil could succeed was something he could easily see her doing. Perhaps that's why the idea nagged at him so much - he found himself wondering how much of the victory was under his own merit and how much of it was out of Roen's kindness.

 

Though, finding out that she had wouldn't have lessen his view of her in his young eyes, of course. In fact, it had potential to segue into another lesson for the little Lalafell. Knowing when to step and help, and when to let someone overcome something under their own power was something Chachanji continued to grapple with. It was most likely the cause of his one big fight with Leanne, and gotten him into a couple terse conversations with Aiden at times. Not to mention his first big pout-fest had been over trying to help too many people at once and, in doing so, just running himself ragged.

 

Perhaps there was much more weight and purpose behind that stuttered question than little Chachanji had first intended. And, perhaps, it would lead into the other question he had been tasked into asking of his mentors. This was quickly turning into quite the leading question indeed.

[Roen]

Roen could see the slow waning of her young pupil’s elation as he stuttered out the question. His nervous energy gave her pause, making the paladin give Chachanji’s shifting expression a second look. There was more behind that question, and when she realized it, she found herself at a bit of a loss.

 

She could have won. But that was never the real point of this outing. When they started the race, she was fully prepared to give him the toughest competition yet. The thought of throwing the race--if that was what she did--hadn’t even crossed her mind. She just saw that Chachanji’s spirit was taking a turn for the worse towards the end, and race or no, she needed to fix it.

 

But were she in Chachanji’s position, the last thing she would want is her opponent to throw the contest. The joy of victory needed to stand on its own merit to be truly enjoyed. Would she tell him it was all a big lesson? Was there some deep meaning she wanted to impart in her choice of actions? She was his mentor now after all, shouldn’t she have some profound guidance to impart? When Roen realized that none of these thoughts went through her head as she decided to serve as his last obstacle, that it was purely driven by instinct, she just smiled sheepishly.

 

“It just felt like the right thing to do.” Roen gave him a small shrug. She chewed her lips slightly, not quite happy with that simple answer. “And Goldwind was still pretty confident that he could still catch up to you both...so I thought it would be a close race either way.” She glanced over her shoulder to her bird, who responded with a spirited kweh and a flutter of his wings in response. Turning her attention back to the youth at hand, the paladin thought for a moment longer, trying to make sense of her own intuition. “Sometimes you just need to go with your gut. Just like that last jump you made, you did not think on the hows or whys, you just did it. Because it needed to be done. And when you succeeded, it felt wonderful.”

 

“Now, jumping over something to avoid a collision and doing the right thing are not the same.” She canted her head, expression softening. “But in both instances I have always felt that you do what comes naturally to you. What you feel driven to do. In time, experience will temper your judgement and mold you instincts.” She reached over to stroke Avenger’s head feathers. “Had I not known how to gauge your riding skills from watching you, I doubt I would have felt compelled to run directly into your path.”

 

Roen gave Chachanji another sidelong glance, as if to take measure of his response to her words. This was partly why she had hesitated in accepting a pupil. She never thought of herself as someone wise, or learned in ways of paladinhood. But he seemed so eager, and he reminded her so much of herself that she could not refuse. And now, as she heard her own words, she wondered if those were the lessons she would impart onto her younger self. Would she still say the same knowing what she does now? To trust in her instincts even in the face of adversity? Even if it would lead to lessons she was not prepared for? Some that were almost too painful to bear?

 

The paladin shook her head suddenly as if to shake away her doubts. She needed not delve into her own life while teaching the youth. Roen smiled again, this time more brightly, trying to revive the exuberance of the race.

 

“You did well, Chachanji. Else you would not have won the race. You should be proud of yourself.”

[Gegenji]

"Th... th' right thing, huh?" Chachanji repeated, his violet orbs gazing into his mentor's own deep blues. He listened quietly to her words, intently even, soaking up her explanation even as Avenger trilled lightly under her ministrations. The bird had gotten to run and jump and revel in his rider's excitement at the end, along with getting head scritchies afterward, so it was content. The young Chocobo wasn't quite so worried about the underlying tones and currents of the race, and perhaps he was the better for it.

 

It seemed to be a running theme of Paladinhood for the young Lalafell - doing the right thing, listening to one's gut and heart to guide the way. He already did some of that, of course; it was why he spent so much time around Ul'dah doing all the various odd jobs and grunt work that most would turn their noses up at. It was why he had approached Aiden when he found the Hyur distraught on the stairs of the Quicksand. It had been why, even after entering on accident, he had steeled himself at the Grindstone to remove the injured Koporo before he could hurt himself further. Even if he found the older Lalafellan Sultansworn annoying and abrasive more often than not, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

 

Hearing it again from his Mentor of the Heart, of all people, only cemented that belief further into the core of Chachanji's very being. He didn't like the idea of his honing of such an equivocal skill taking more time - waiting had always been a bit of an issue with him - but he nodded in understanding at Roen's mention of it nonetheless. He had heard it often enough, and if Ms. Roen of all people said as such, it had to be true. He wouldn't be a good pupil if he tossed away such advice and wisdom out of hand for something as abstract as its intangible concepts. Especially when such lessons resulted in mad ups, which was obviously the most important part to remember about the race.

 

The sidelong glance didn't escape the eager student's shimmering violet eyes either, noting how the Hyur's thoughts seemed to turn introspective as well. She did that often enough in their lessons, Chachanji had noted, though he made a point to not mention it. Knowing his teacher as he thought he did, it was most likely something soulful and important. She always seemed to be dwelling on much more important things than he did, which just made her seem all the more wise and impressive to the little Lalafell. So, when Roen cast away her musings with a shake of her head and turned her attentions back outward and upon her waiting student, the youngest Gegenji had a childish smile ready and waiting to match her own.

 

Her praise only added to its lumocity.

 

"Akay, Ms. Roen," he affirmed simply to her words, giving a small nod to add a little extra added weight to his response. And Chachanji did feel really proud about his accomplishments, if his squeeing over the jump wasn't obvious enough evidence of that. The entire race had been quite fun, even despite its hiccups here and there. Sure, he might've been bummed out a bit if he had lost, but it still would've been an overall positive experience. Winning just added an extra little bit to it, whether it was fully under the Lalafell's own merits or not.

 

Yet something was still nagging at him, reminding him there was something still missing. He tried to quell it and focus on absorbing the wisdom being imparted on him, on the feelgood tingle from both the race and the praise he had been showered with by Roen, but it continued to fight back with his own childish stubbornness. Demanding that it be heard.

 

You have to ask her. Ask her why she became a Paladin. Was it to help someone, to protect someone she cared about, like Ser Warren? Because it was the "right thing"? You need to ask her.

 

We need to know; both for Ser Crofte's Trial... and for ourselves.

 

Chachanji turned his gaze away from his mentor then, his amethyst orbs falling again upon the looming form of the Sultantree. Their ultimate destination, their finish line in the day's events. And the place where he would ask her the question that gnawed at him, begged to be asked.

 

"We should go rest," the little Lalafell suggested, turning his attentions back on his mentor, though he gave his mount a quick glance and a pat on the neck before he continued. "Both th' birds deserve it after such a good run, right?"

[Roen]

“Indeed.” The paladin nodded. “Especially for such a spirited race in the desert.” Goldwind gave her another quick snort as if to dismiss her concerns, scratching at the dirt with his talons. (Clearly still miffed about losing the race. Such was the competitive nature of her mount!) With an amused shake of her head, Roen approached the impressive tree before them, clucking her tongue to beckon her chocobo to follow.

 

The Sultantree. A majestic name for such an imposing structure. She remembered the first time she laid eyes upon it, having to crane her neck back just to try and spot the highest branch. At first she had entertained the idea of actually trying to climb the thing...until she realized at close range just how enormous the span the trunk was. She was sorely tempted by the challenge still, but there were so many other things to see and discover.

 

Roen remembered clearly how she was struck with awe at everything that she saw when she came upon Ul’dah for the first time. She had only been traveling with a simple merchant before that, seeing the outskirts of Thanalan at most. So coming upon the grandeur of the Jewel had taken her breath away. It was also nothing like the home she had grown up in.

 

As she came to a shaded spot, she loosened the buckles of the saddle and slid it off Goldwind’s back, sending her bird off to graze on things with a pat to his hind leg. She tossed the saddle onto the foot of the tree and unhooked the satchel over her shoulder as well, taking out a pair of apples before setting the bag onto the ground as well.

 

“How are you getting along, Chachanji?” Roen asked as she settled on to a seat upon one of the massive roots curling into the ground. She waited until he was done settling his own mount before offering him one of the apples. “I remember I was a bit overwhelmed myself when I first arrived here.” She squinted at the distant view of Ul’dah’s massive walls. She too had found mentors back then--Sultansworns she had wanted to emulate. They had become her new teachers, some of them like family even, and had made Ul’dah less of a lonely place.

 

“Ser Castille is teaching you some formidable fighting skills, I imagine.” She smiled at her pupil. “You have a good teacher there. I assume your training is going well?”

[Gegenji]

Just as Goldwind followed his rider, so did Chachan follow the both of them from astride Avenger. Once the four of them were in the shade of the great Sultantree, however, the little Lalafell too dismounted. Continuing to emulate his mentor, he undid the buckles and straps that held his own bird's saddle tightly in place. His own light pats for a job well-done were more near the young mount's breast, perhaps closer to the wing, which got a happy chirp out of Avenger.

 

As soon as his rider was out of the way, though, Avenger bound off with much unspent energy. Until called again, his tasks would most likely include chasing small bugs and harassing the larger Goldwind. He seemed more focused on the former for the moment, however, as something small and winged flit past his bright, shimmering avian eyes. With a curious trill, Avenger turned to look and shortly began to give chase. Gotta see it again, gotta catch it!

 

The Lalafell himself would have also been quite full of energy, considering it was his mount that had done most of the work in the race. He had merely directed and guided the bird, with most of the drain on him most likely coming from the emotional roller-coaster he had subjected himself to during it. The latter, however, would still have been tempered somewhat by the adrenaline wrought from that final jump and mad dash to the finish that still lingered within his small form. Should have, would have, could have.

 

Yet he ultimately wasn't, at least not as much as Chachanji certainly could've been. A lot of that energy was still being turned inward, however, focused on the musings and what-ifs of the question he was seeking to pose as he settled into a sitting position. When should he ask it, how should he ask it, and what would be her response? All of these questions occupied a large amount of the young Dunesfolk's focus. So much so that he was genuinely startled when a bright red apple was presented to him.

 

"Oh, um... th-thanks, Ms. Roen! 'n... 'n... I'm doin' akay." He was stuttering as he took the proffered fruit, there being a bit of a hesitation before realizing she had asked a question of him and answering accordingly. Chachanji always stuttered when flustered or nervous, though the youngest Gegenji child often didn't notice it and was quick to pout and stutter more when it was pointed out to him. Usually be his closest friend and "adopted sister" Leanne.

 

"It... it was pretty diff'cult at first, yeah..." he admitted as he took a bite out of the crisp apple, its sweet flesh and tangy juices helping to calm his wandering mind a bit. "I-I made a lotta frands though, so that's halped a lot!"

 

And it was true. Every passing sun seemed to result in another person entering Chachan's life. Some were there for but a brief, flitting moment like Dogberry and his Miqo'te friend Yangh whilst others cemented themselves more firmly into his circle of friends like the Sultansworn-in-Training Roysia Stone. It was actually starting to get to the point that he found himself doing more double-takes at some folks, trying to put one of the many names floating around in his memory to the faces that looked oh so familiar. The little Lalafell really needed to start writing names and stuff down in his little journal again, like Ms. Artemis had originally suggested. Maybe that would aid in dispelling that nagging feeling of faint remembrance, or at least provide him with a quick bit of referential material to use to help quench it.

 

But that was his mind starting to wander again as he thought on it, and it was Roen who again drew Chachan's attentions back to the here and now.

 

"Ser Warren? Um, yeah. He's been teachin' me lots 'bout swordin'," he admitted, rather proud of both his arms teacher and his own progress under his tutelage. "His frand Ms. Sei was also sayin' she'd halp me learn how ta fight 'gainst spears after we fought in th' Grindstone. She's... um... kinda scary at times though. I mean, she jumped up on a table at th' Quicksand 'n nearly skewered Ser Warren ta prove a point once!"

 

The youngster was fully ready to go into regaling the lady Hyur of what had happened before stopping himself. She had asked him about his training in a general sense at the end there. Sure it meant mostly his training with Warren, but it could serve as a decent enough segue into asking The Question. Yes, Chachanji's mind had converted it into a proper noun at this point, though he would have been rather hard pressed to describe it as such if asked.

 

"U-um..." The stuttering was back again. "There's... there's somethin' else too."

 

He hesitated, fidgeting a bit in his seated position against the bulk of the Sultantree. If the flush that came to his cheeks came any stronger, one might think he was about to ask his mentor a much more personal question than he actually meant to. Though, perhaps the reasons for walking the path one did was rather personal in its own sort of way. Regardless, the sudden crimson tinge to his cheeks made Chachanji's freckles stand out a bit more as he turned his violet gaze back onto Roen.

 

"I... uh... I talked ta Ser Crofe," he explained, trying again. "'n she wanted me ta... ta ask ya 'n Ser Warren. 'bout why ya became Paladins. Y-y'know, if'n ya don't mind tellin' me."

 

Why was he so nervous this time? Sure, the Lalafell had been distracted with the question before posing it to Warren, but he had managed to blurt it out without stammering quite so much. Maybe it was because the answer he got back seemed so... personal, as he had just been musing over just moments earlier? Or perhaps it was due to the thoughts that had drifted through his own mind once that explanation was given? Mayhaps Chachanji was both curious... and a little nervous of what revelations Roen's answer might bring.

 

However he felt, The Question was out there now, and youngest Gegenji's gaze fell upon his partially-eaten apple as he awaited her response.

[Roen]

Why did I become a paladin? When did I know this was my path?

 

Chachanji’s question had brought about a long period of quiet, for she had no ready answer. The paladin lowered her hand with the apple down onto her lap, her brows furrowing in thought. Her gaze strayed from the Lalafell youth to the desert fields behind him, memories drifting before her like a warm summer breeze.

 

It was on a day not far different from this one, when the air was dry and the sun shone high above in a cloudless sky. Roen and Brenden Deneith were just returning from the nearest market town back home, the same trip that they had made many times before. But on this day, they came upon a group of bandits who sought what little gil that they had gained from selling their produce. Her adoptive father resisted, for the hard-earned coin was supposed to feed his family through the drought, but even as Roen and Brenden fought them off, one of the bandits left the merchant with a grievous wound.

 

Two days later, on another hot and suffocating summer day, Roen saw Brenden’s life fading from his eyes, his ragged breaths shallow. That was when a Sultansworn had found them, a paladin in glorious armor--blue trimmed in silver and shining in the sun. He had come and laid his hand upon the wounded merchant, and with a prayer and a wondrous display of aetheric magic, the paladin had brought her adoptive father back to health.

 

That was when Roen had sworn to herself to seek out the Sultansworn again. To ask him to train her, so that she too could do for others what he did for her and her family. To save someone who was beloved. To have the power to restore life and light onto those fading into death and darkness.

 

How long had she been trying to find that path? It was for as long as she could remember. Why?

 

Memories of that day in the desert were swept away as if by a dust storm, and before her appeared another scene she had long wanted to forget.

 

Everywhere she turned, there were bodies. Swords clashing, fireballs exploding, guns flaring, and Magitek mounts and chocobos alike carrying more soldiers to their deaths. Roen froze, her sword in hand, unable to move. As blood rained around her, she found herself unable to take part in the battle she had convinced herself only weeks past to be the most important thing in her life. But seeing the fighting up close and the death it brought, she found herself unprepared. She was unwilling--unable--to kill people she did not even know.

 

So she ran.

 

As she did so, she passed numerous people on the ground. The ones that still lived...she still remembered their desperate expressions--and there were so many--as they tried to crawl away. They too wanted to flee, just as she did, even though she could tell that they knew their death was imminent. Still their limbs clawed at the ground in their attempt. Roen paused more than once, hesitant to leave someone behind. But then another explosion would rocked them all to their knees.

 

She remembered hearing only the hammering of her heart in her chest. It was her fear that made her run. Tears stung her eyes as she passed one frightened face after another, some of them not too much older than she was.

 

I ran like a coward. I did not save anyone that day, Roen thought bitterly to herself as she forcibly dismissed those visions from her mind. And yet she had snuck into that battle underaged, pretending to belong in an Imperial regimen, for the very purpose of saving one person in particular.

 

She never did save him.

 

“I am afraid he will not be present for dinner again, Miss,” Gerbert had said in his usual monotonous tone as he laid the bowl of soup in front of her. He then retreated back into the kitchens before she could engage him in any conversation, the echoes of his booted heels against the stone tiles sounding harsh to her ears.

 

Roen sat in the dining hall by herself, in a chair that was too tall for her and at a long polished table that could easily seat twelve, much less one lonely young girl. Her father was away again, choosing to work through the night in his laboratory. She could not remember the last time they had dined together…not since her mother had passed away. She looked to the other end of the table, where he used to sit, and next to him her mother. The ghosts of that memory filled the room as Roen saw her younger self seated on her mother’s lap; her father had bent towards her with a delighted smile allowing her to pop a small piece of mushroom into his opened mouth. He crossed his eyes suddenly with his nose only a few ilms away from her face, which made her burst into a fit of giggles and fall back into her mother’s arms. Their laughter had filled the hall then.

 

But since her mother’s death, she no longer saw him laugh or smile. There was only darkness that followed him, sadness that dulled his gaze. It was as if he too had lost his will to live when the love of his life had lost hers.

 

How desperately she wanted to save her father then…she promised herself to find whatever way she could to bring him back to the land of the living. To restore the light that she used to see in his eyes. To rekindle the warmth that used to radiate in his smile.

 

Was it then?

 

The paladin blinked, the apple rolling along her lap towards her as she had lost the grip on it in her reflections. She glanced to Chachanji when she realized that she had fallen into a long spell of silence in trying to respond to his question.

 

“I lost someone,” Roen said quietly. “I…could not save him. And then I saw many others fall.” She felt the wave sadness rise from within, but restrained it with a determined frown instead. “So when I met a Sultansworn, I finally thought that was what I could become. So that if I was given another chance, I would not fail them. That I did not have to lose anyone again, not if it was in my power to save them.”

 

Roen exhaled slowly, trying to focus back onto the topic at hand. Ser Crofte had set Chachanji on this task for his sake, she reminded herself. She should be giving him counsel that would lend him some wisdom, rather than sharing her own inner demons.

 

“Do you know why Ser Crofte asked you to pose such a question?” The paladin thought it best to focus the conversation back onto her pupil. “Did she ask you the same?”

[Gegenji]

As with Warren, Roen lapsed into a silence for a time before speaking, and it was perhaps this part of these conversations that most put the little Lalafell on edge above all else. He had originally just wanted to be a Paladin because he wanted to be a hero, and the holy knights he continued to come across only strengthened that seemingly perfect match to the ideal envisioned in his mind. And yet, while he liked to think that it had become something more substantial after the things he had seen and done, he still couldn't shake the shame of the childish origins of his desires. To realize that others had much more powerful reasons that set them on the path to knighthood was both profoundly humbling and made Chachanji more than a little self-conscious.

 

When his female mentor finally spoke, it was like a sudden punch to the gut that left Chachanji silently reeling. Ser Warren had taken up the mantle, it had at least been a positive reason: he had wanted to protect someone. She had been hurt, but at least she had survived even if the male Highlander's over-protectiveness had driven her away. With Roen, there was no such angle, for she had lost someone... several people. And, unlike Warren, it was not a matter of simply driving them away for one reason or another; it was something far more permanent, from the sounds of it.

 

And yet, there was a resonance there that wasn't there with Warren's slightly lengthier reminiscing - at least, not to the same degree anyway. The little Lalafell found his mind unconsciously flitting back to his thoughts as he awaited Roen's arrival. Most particularly, to the last guess that had crept up on him out of nowhere. Or, perhaps, it had always been there and had just eluded his sight until he had turned wistful and introspective. Something had instilled a similar fear into Chachanji, a deeper desire to help and protect people that had not been there at the start of his journey.

 

His musings on such things was derailed somewhat when his mentor asked of his hopeful third teacher, of Ser Crofte, ironically turning the lad from his darker thoughts as Roen had sought to do for her own. Still, it was not quite the full escape as provided to her, for it brought instead to mind his conversation with the Sultansworn in her cluttered office. It brought to mind the questions she had asked, and the questions that she made him present himself. Questions that had ultimately led him to seek answers from his two mentors, which he might have done even without being tasked to do so by the lady 'Sworn.

 

"I think..." Chachanji's voice was somber, perhaps a remnant of his darker thoughts or just due to the more grounded nature of the conversation as a whole. "It's because when she asked me why I wanted ta be a Paladin, I didn't have an answer good enuff. I jus' said I wanted ta halp people, ta protect 'em, 'n she said that there were many ways ta do it witout takin' up th' sword 'n shield. She had pressed me, 'n I didn't have an answer strong enuff - 'n that's why she sent me out ta talk ta ya 'n Ser Warren."

 

The youngest Gegenji fiddled with his own apple somewhat, turning it over in his hand and examining it like it was a physical manifestation of his intentions. Unfortunately, half-eaten fruit gave little in the way of insightful hints even with such abstraction placed upon them. As such, all he could see in it was the mottled light cast upon it by the leaves and branches of the Sultantree high overhead.

 

"I didn't have anyone that I had wanted ta protect, like Ser Warren," the little Lalafell mused, seemingly speaking more to himself than his mentor at this point. "Nor did I lose someone important ta me, like ya did. It jus' makes me feel... shallow, y'know? Ser Warren said it was nice enough ta want ta protect people, whether I knew 'em or not, but I needed ta find out why I was doin' it. What made me want ta do it."

 

Chachanji dug into the apple a bit with his other hand, scraping the pale flesh within with his nail idly as if it would uncover some hidden truth for him. All he managed to reveal, however, were the glimmering seeds at the apple's center and they offered little solace. He settled, then, for taking up the scrapings and slipping them quietly into his mouth. He pontificated on them, and his own thoughts, for a bit before continuing.

 

"'n yet..." He paused, fiddling with the fruit again. "'n yet, there's somethin' in yer reasonin' that sounds... close. Not quite there, but I'm feelin' closer ta figgerin' it out. Ser Warren's words had done th' same too, tho in a dif'rent way. I 'spose that's th' whole underlyin' reason ta th' Trial Ser Crofte gave me - ta hear yer reasonin's 'n, from that, find me own."

 

Chachanji's grip tightened on the unoffending fruit, sending its juices dribbling out over his stout little fingertips. When he realized this, the little Lalafell quickly changed which hand was holding the apple and shook away as much of the wetness before finishing the job with a childish wiping of hand on shirt. He flexed that now dry hand thoughtfully as he looked at it, and then turned his violet gaze back up onto Roen.

 

"'n I'm thinkin' I'm gettin' pretty close."

[Roen]

Roen watched her pupil carefully as she noted his mood turning sober. She had not seen such seriousness in his young eyes before, and at certain moments as he looked over his apple, he seemed almost lost.

 

The paladin canted her head, studying Chachanji. What did she really know of this Lalafell? Not much really, other than the fact that from the first day they had met, she had immediately recognized their similarities; his eager enthusiasm reminded her of her own, younger self. She recognized his pure idealism all too well and found herself fiercely wanting to protect it.

 

But she had never wondered--or perhaps even cared--why he wanted to help others. In answering his question, she had realized where her own desire to aid others had risen from. Her mother had instilled within her a need to lend kindness to others, but it was the loss of her father to his grief that had given rise to a purpose. This yearning for fulfillment, this sense of duty that always seemed to push her from within...

 

She believed that it was following this path that she could feel right in the world, to balance the scales even just a little bit.

 

As Roen looked back to Chachanji, she doubted he had a similar obligation that burned in his heart. At least, she desperately hoped that he did not. The innocence that shone brightly in his eyes from the first day that she met him, she would never suspect that there were shadows in his past. Was it then that in sharing her own, he wished for some gravitas to add to his own purpose? He thought that his simple need to help others was already too shallow in meaning.

 

The paladin smiled with sympathy when the youth looked back at her. She leaned in towards him, her apple now back in her hands. She rolled it absently between her two palms as she curled a brighter expression for her pupil.

 

“Just wanting to help others should never ever be considered shallow,” Roen said softly. “That in itself is an admirable trait. But being a paladin or a Sultansworn...it is not an easy road. It is not just a job. It takes conviction and resolve, and often those very things will be tested.” Her voice lowered slightly, as did her gaze. It was her turn to idly study the fruit in her hands as she turned it over.

 

“I think that is why Ser Crofte was prodding you for a deeper answer. There are easier roads to take, and you can still help many people. Taking up the sword and shield, and dedicating your life to protecting others, sometimes it can take a toll on you. She wants to be sure, and I do as well, that you are committing to it for the right reasons.” There was a hint of caution to her words, as if to silently prepare him or even dissuade him, if there were any signs of cracks in his determination.

 

“I will help you in any way I can, Chachanji.” Roen glanced back up at the youth, her expression intent. “But know this. You are choosing to live a life in servitude of an ideal. That is the path of a paladin. To dedicate your life to an Oath, one you will swear, to protect others that are in need. You are meant to bind yourself to this purpose.” She locked her gaze with his. “So why are you so intent on dedicating your entire life to this?”

[Gegenji]

Roen's impressing upon him that his desires weren't as ill-placed as he seemed to think brought a timid smile to the little Lalafell's lips. It didn't last too long, however, as the Hyur quickly set to brass tacks on the seriousness of the situation he was dealing with. The words struck home easily enough, especially considering the situations he had been a part of even before becoming a Paladin. The whole situation with Ser Romy - from the head brought to her by a pair of Miqo'te to losing an arm to putting his freshly crafted armor he had made at her behest to the test by absorbing an explosion - was proof enough of that.

 

"I... I don't want ta jus' do th' easier thing, though, Ms. Roen," Chachanji murmured as she cautioned him. While he may not have known the reasons behind his determination quite yet, it still remained as unbending and stalwart as ever. He turned his violet gaze upon his mentor. "I wanna do th' right thing, I want ta protect people in need - I want ta halp."

 

Her offer of assistance brought the smile back to his face again as he turned his attentions to his almost-forgotten apple. He had taken a big bite out of it as she continued, the chewing becoming slower and more spaced out as she explained exactly what he would be doing. Dedicating his life to protecting people, to the point of swearing an Oath to do so, it certainly seemed all the heavier and dramatic hearing Roen say it. Yet, despite all that...

 

"But... that's what I want ta do," the little Dunesfolk stated with a bit of confusion. "I want ta protect those in need, 'n I'd want ta even if'n I didn't hafta swear an Oath ta do so. I was raised learnin' how ta make weapons 'n armor... told ta sell 'em ta whoever'd pay th' coin fer it. But... I'd rather use th' stuff I made... ta halp people meself. Rather'n jus' off it on 'em 'n wish 'em th' best'a luck..."

 

It all came back to the same question, though: why? Why did he want to become a Paladin? Why did he want to protect people so much. It had originally been just out of aspirations of wanting to be the hero he dreamed of being as a little tyke - that much he was begrudgingly willing to admit to himself. Yet, something had changed that, tempered it into a true desire and a true calling.

 

As with Ser Warren, he found himself trying to remember exactly when that moment came, aided by the new knowledge garnered from his second mentor. It had something to do with loss... with fear, of that he was fairly certain. It just seemed on the tip of his tongue, on the peripherals of his thoughts. Perhaps it just needed another nudge, another event to jar it from its hiding spot and bring it to the forefront of his mind. Yet, for now, he was still in the dark.

 

"That's... that's what I'm tryin' ta figger out, Ms. Roen," the youngest Gegenji admitted, after politely swallowing the bits of apple he had been masticating thoughtfully. "'n... 'n this is all really halpin', I think. This talkin' ta ya 'n Ser Warren, hearin' yer own reasons 'n usin' that ta figger out mine. Ser Crofte is really smart, huh? If'n I hadn't'a asked her ta teach me like ya 'n Ser Warren, I might'a never really thought 'bout th' whys of it..."

 

Again, his mind wandered in search for that moment in time where fancy honed itself into purpose. Bits of sight and sound bubbling up from the slurry of memories within his little head. He was at... the Quicksand, he knew that much. He'd been there long enough to recognize it from almost any angle at this point.

 

He had been doing... something. About to take Gran out for his daily evening walk, perhaps? Getting a bite to eat at the bar from the smiling Ms. Momodi and her staff? Or maybe just running around the establishment like he was wont to do when his tasks for the day were done and he had naught on his plate to attend to, arms out at his side and pretending his was an airship in search for friends and adventure. All pretty likely possibilities.

 

But then something had stopped him dead in his tracks, regardless of whatever tracks they were. It had been... something he had overheard being said by someone at one of the tables, perhaps. A bit of rumor and banter that had floated to his long ears as if it had been actively seeking him out. He couldn't quite remember what was said, or even the type of person who had said it, but it had sent chills through his spine. It had been...

 

Doma.

 

The single word hit Chachanji like an out-of-control Fat Chocobo chasing after a rolling gysahl green, the apple he had been slowly working his way through tumbling forgotten into the dirt. They had been talking about Garlemald's razing of Doma, and the horror that had crept into him then came back just as quickly now. He had panicked, forgotten about whatever else he had been doing at the time, rushing towards those disembodied voices for clarification.

 

He had needed to know more - something, anything. But the Quicksand had been horrifically crowded that day, and the conversation had turned away from it. He had spent the rest of the day desperately trying to find out more about the rumor - if it was true, when it had happened, why it had happened. And, most importantly, if anyone had survived.

 

If his family had survived.

 

It had been a fear that stayed with him, darkened his thoughts and his spirits, until the day the refugees turned up at the gates of Ul'dah seeking shelter. And when he found his family again amongst the rabble, their rejoining being a light that pierced the darkness. Learning that they could not stay in Ul'dah with him had been a painful thing, of course - along with the incident that had almost had him shipped off along with them - but it was not nearly as heartrending as the thought of losing them entirely.

 

Was... was that it then, was that the defining moment? He had tasted of the fear of loss and desired to protect others from that horrible feeling? It almost seemed too... simple... too trite a reason to be true. And yet, all of his more determined attempts to attain paladin-hood had all occurred after all of that: improving his swordsmanship, taking on mentors, actively defending people. Before then, he had been happy enough just helping folks through the various odds and ends done through the Adventurer's Guild.

 

He had lost a home, and almost lost a family. In that he had found a reason to protect others: so that no one else might risk losing their home, their friends, their family. That had been his Purpose. That was why he wanted to be a Paladin.

[Roen]

Roen watched as Chachanji fell silent, his violet gaze going distant. It was as if he was seeing right past her to watch some odd scene that was somewhere else, and some other time. His expression turned from one of determination to introspection...the latter then giving way to a myriad of subtle shifts in his mood. She thought she saw a glimpse of fear or even doubt as the apple dropped from his hand, forgotten. But moments later an air of conviction that settled about his young frame; he straightened just a little bit in his seat. She thought she could spy a hint of a newly found confidence behind his eyes.

 

The paladin released a long sigh of relief. A part of her had feared that Chachanji was not read for this road. This weight that would be put upon his shoulders once his has taken up the Oath. She wanted to impart upon him what wisdom she could share, of the harsh lessons she herself had learned since starting this path.

 

But she was still learning herself, and her journey was far from over. She did not know if she was ready for what waited ahead. So how was she to prepare another?

 

In her mind's eye, familiar faces--some she recognized with fondness and others that brought about a twinge of regret--appeared before her, like wisps of memory drifting upon the wind. From her Sworn mentors, Erik, Anelia, and Natalie, to all who have taught her wisdom and strength, such as Gharen, Hornet, and Qaeli, to those who had extended their hands in friendship like Kiht, Osric, Coatleque, and so many others…they were the ones who helped her stand strong when she felt weak, so that she could continue to walk this path. It was they who had helped her rise again when she stumbled.

 

A soft smile rose upon her lips as the memories of them bolstered her courage, hope and faith chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt. She could be to Chachanji as all those she remembered were to her: a lifeline when needed, a hand extended to pull her up when she was drowning, a kind word of comfort when she was lost.

 

“Your desire is clear and unwavering, Chachanji.” Roen leaned forward to lay her own unmarked apple upon his lap, its crimson surface shining under the Thanalan sun. “I have all the confidence in the world that no matter what sparked your need to do this in the beginning, in the end, it is who you are that will continue to carry you in this path.” She offered a gentle smile with a tilt of her head. “And should you ever feel lost, alone, or overwhelmed, know that you have friends. You have mentors, like me. You are not alone. No one should do this alone.”

 

If the paladin had anything more to add, it was interrupted by a quark as Goldwind’s head dipped between the mentor and pupil, the chocobo snatching up the half eaten apple that had dropped to the ground. Roen let out a laughing yelp as she raised her hand in front of her face to guard herself against the spray of apple bits, Goldwind unceremoniously crunching down on the fruit just fulms away from their faces.

 

By the time the bird made its sheepish retreat, Roen was wiping away droplets of juice from her forehead, her eyes and expression bright with amusement.

 

She regarded the young Lalafell with a satisfied nod.

 

“I think you will be fine paladin. And you can tell Ser Crofte I said that.”

[Gegenji]

This one's a lengthy one, and a suitable capper for this whole thing, I think! It's been adapted from an IG conversation between Chachan and Coat, so you know it's gonna be good! I really hope you enjoy it!

 

And, since I have this here, I'd also like to thank everyone who participated in this. Warren, Roen, Coat, and any and all of the other people whose interactions with Chachan I let seep into the posts here. This has always been a major milestone I wanted the little guy to reach and he wouldn't have made it without all your help! So, well, thank you all so much!

 

Um... feel free to leave any OOC comments on the RP if you'd like, but Paladin's Proof is basically done and dusted by the end of this post. Thanks for reading and/or participating!

 

Oh! And if you want the music I was listening to as I was fixing this up, well...

 

VSijggSeQow

 

The sound of the hammer seemed fitting. :blush:

 

 

 

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...