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It was strange, how the regrets lined up ready for the aftermath.
When the Ascian's magic had hit her, Moenbryda had felt it rip through her. There had been no regret then, though she had known without looking that it was likely a mortal blow. Someone had to stand between all the twig-thin scholars and the forces that wanted them gone, why shouldn't it be her?
She was still a scholar, though, even if she wasn't built like a stick. The quick thinking, the adapting, returning the favour to the man who'd thought her dealt with. She didn't understand a single word that came out of his mouth, but she could hear the sneering disdain in his tone, and she didn't like it. She had committed her aether to it, and there had been no regret then.
She'd heard the sound of voices, of a door slammed open, of a cacophony of feet on the floor of the Solar. Felt the amplifier ripped from her hands before she could finish the deed.
"No! We've got the bastard-"
She'd thought they made for poor last words, but the light had faded before she could feel the regret.
And then she'd opened her eyes again.
The sun filtered in through the high-set windows, the light tinged a faint purple from the outside gloom. The room smelled the slightly acrid scent of open medicinal pots, and everything she could feel ached liked she'd been trampled by a gigas. For a few moments, she lay still, staring at the ceiling above her, processing that she'd somehow woken up. Then it hit her.
Someone had to keep those idiots safe, and who the hell would do it if she got herself killed?
Revenge was all well and good, but what use was it if the knowledge died with her?
Her body had its own complaints, ones that put her youthful misadventures in Labyrinthos to shame, but she could chase them off with a stiff drink. Just as soon as her hands started listening to her, anyway.
The thoughts stampeded through her like horses, and left a shadow behind.
How could you make him mourn you?
Urianger, the big, dumb idiot, had put himself on the outside of the Scions despite her best efforts. It was where he felt comfortable - on the sidelines, watching and taking notes and helping as quietly as he could. He had so much to give, and he was content to hold it all inside him. For how long? For what?
He'd blame himself for it. Of course he would. He always did. And he'd carry it all the way back to Sharlayan, if he dared set foot in his home at all-
"You're awake! Thank the Twelve!" One of the Crystal Braves, a young elezen woman, cut through her thoughts. A tray was hastily pushed onto a nearby table - fluids and potions and medicines - and she ran the short distance over to Moenbryda's bed.
"No need to fuss over me," was what she wanted to say. What came out was "No- ugh," and a series of hacking coughs as her throat protested its dryness. She tried to sit up, to wave the woman away, and managed a feeble flailing of her arm.
Guess I'm the twig now, huh?
"Urianger has been watching over you since your… unfortunate encounter," the woman said, pushing Moenbryda back down onto the bed when she tried to sit up. The spike of pain that radiated out from her chest bespoke how bad an idea it would have been to actually sit, but she resented being made an invalid. "He's sleeping right now, but I'll be sure to let him know. He was most worried about you." A cup of water was held up to Moenbryda's mouth, and she let it trickle down her throat and held back the urge to grimace.
"Typical bookworm," she managed, the cough less rough this time.
He was already shouldering the burden.
For Urianger, it had been a most harrowing trip from the Waking Sands.
He had received no less than five linkpearl calls in succession, each some degree of panicked, and he had found his voice to reply to none of them. Moenbryda has been injured, not a surprising statement in and of itself - full well did he know her tendency to charge headfirst into a problem, and sport the bruises and scrapes for her valiant efforts. But it was the tone in their voices, the fear, the panic. Unspoken by everyone but Yda, who had babbled in her terror of mortal wounds and Ascians.
He had not packed. Caretaking the Waking Sands was his duty, but there existed still a skeleton crew of adventurers in the building to mind it in his absence. He had ensured that he had his grimoire, and then teleported to Mor Dhona from the basement without so much as a farewell to those he left behind.
If she did not wake, he would not have bade her farewell, either.
He had not run into the Rising Stones, if only because his robe made it more likely that he land in an ignoble pile than successfully cross the distance. He listened to the concerned voices, but he did not let them stop him. He had walked most briskly across the cold floor and into her room, a trespass he would never have considered in normal times.
Y'shtola, dependable as always, had tasked herself with the duty of maintaining what feeble spark of life still beat within Moenbryda's breast. Immediately he had opened his grimoire and conjured forth a carbuncle, the glimmering amber around which it formed ideally placed to provide healing assistance, and attempted to take over.
To behold her in such a state robbed him, eloquent speaker though he so often was, of all his words. Without the constant effort of maintaining healing on Moenbryda's body, Y'shtola had a moment to explain what had happened. An Ascian had attacked the Rising Stones, set on claiming Tupsimati as his own. Moenbryda had taken umbrage to his presence, and in return he had dealt her a truly telling blow and spirited Minfilia away to the rift, Tupsimati clutched defiantly in her hands. Upon his defeat at the Warrior of Light's most capable hands, they had captured his essence in the auracite, and had attempted…
He had looked down at her, marked the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She would have given of herself to destroy him, and in so doing rob those who remained of even a body to bury. It was most like her - stubborn and headstrong, committed to the idea of the righteous. And she had never been one to sit idle, waiting for an end she had considered inevitable.
But her survival had not been guaranteed even for their friends' timely arrival. It still was not - she persisted, but barely, a shadow of her prime. There was no certainty that she would ever wake. And though the wound had been staunched and covered now by bandages wrapped by expert hands, that dark magic could leave so deep a mark bespoke a deep and terrible power that their foe had wielded.
It would take more than hope and feeble curatives to rise her from death's slumber.
He had considered all manner of things. As the politics and the dragons pulled his companions inexorably away to their realm-preserving tasks, he sat with healing magic in one hand and a book in the other, devouring tome after tome in the hopes that one would contain the secret that would wake her. He owed her no less than every waking hour of the day, after his words had drawn her into the web that conspired still to steal her life from her. He read of miraculous recoveries fuelled by voidsent pacts - but the soul was stolen and replaced by another. He read of dark magics which could mend any wound - and the price was the life of an innocent. Though he would gladly have given his own to save her, she would never forgive him for such a thing. It would be gross cruelty to force her to live with such a burden.
Again and again, the thread wove through the narrative. A miracle required a price, and fate found him a pauper.
Y'shtola was helping Meonbryda sit upright when Urianger crept in, silent as a mouse.
Her first thought was that he looked like shit. He still had the goggles on, which hid the crow's feet that had gathered under his eyes, but the way the skin of his face pinched in sketched them out for the imagination all the same. He had his hands clasped around his grimoire like a lifeline, drawn in and hunched.
It reminded her of Sharlayan. Of pulling the shy boy out of the pile of books he had hidden himself in. Of watching him flinch away and make himself small, embarrassed to so much as exist. Learning that his parents had all but abandoned him, their research more important than he was. She hadn't really understood it at the time, but she recognised it now. Blaming himself for things he had no control over.
"Moenbryda," he said, his voice quiet and uncertain. He had made so many strong proclamations when she had first arrived in Mor Dhona, even if he had scurried off shortly after. She had been so proud of him. Her shy little bookworm, comfortable in an eclectic group of friends.
"Get yourself over here," she demanded, Y'shtola shaking her head in despair as Moenbryda gestured with one hand, despite the grimace it caused. "You won't hug yourself, no matter how hard you seem to be trying."
"Have thy injuries healed enough for such vigorous activities?" Urianger replied, and Y'shtola chuckled.
"I think you should listen, because she'll try and get out of the bed otherwise," she advised. Urianger grimaced at that, slowly picking his way across the floor.
"Art thou pained?" he asked her. "The wound-"
"Y'shtola gave me the good stuff, don't worry," Moenbryda interrupted, grabbing his arm and pulling him down. The hug was awkward, Urianger not used to it and Moenbryda's arms still aching, but it still made him sputter in shock. His book hit the floor barely inches from his toes, and Y'shtola hid a laugh behind her hand for his sake.
"P-pray unhand me," Urianger demanded, face going red. "Thou art most gravely wounded, such exertions in thy state…"
"Not so badly I can't stop you wiggling," she said, though she did let him go, for the sake of his dignity. The flash of pain that had radiated through her chest had nothing to do with it. "Y'shtola told me everything that happened." The conjurer herself nodded to the two of them, sidling towards the door as quietly as she could. "You managed to put the preening peacock down!"
"Aye, my compatriots did triumph over the Ascian," Urianger agreed, his choice of words telling. "Though mine own arrival was most delayed, I fear. 'Twas all I could do to survey the damage…"
"But it worked," Moenbryda continued, heedless of his concern. "The white auracite. The aether infusion. It actually worked!" A hacking cough forced an interruption, the force of it sending shivers of pain through her with every gasp. "I mean, I had a very strong suspicion that it would, but-"
"Pray contain thine exuberance," Urianger begged, his voice quiet. He averted his gaze from her, picking his grimoire up from where it had fallen and brushing the worst of the scuffing from its surface. "Thy wounds are yet grave, and undue motion may yet undo all thy hard-won healing…"
"So everyone is keen to remind me," she lamented, but she did shuffle backwards on the bed slightly. She knew they were right, even if Urianger was a worry-wart, but she was already tired of being confined to bed. "You know me, Uri. I'm made of tougher stuff." Urianger closed his eyes.
"The cruel hand of fate hath turned from thee, 'tis true," he said. "But even now, the sturdy form thou speakest of may yet be robbed from thee. Pray taketh care."
"Look at you, bossing me around for a change," she remarked, raising an eyebrow. "I'll give it my best shot."
None of them had asked him how.
He had tried so many things. All manner of esoteric healing magics, any number of alchemical tonics. Master Alphinaud had even purchased a number of more expensive remedies with his own coin, a debt Urianger would work tirelessly to repay.
Nothing had worked.
Hours turned to days. Days became a week, became a full sennight without any sign of stirring from Moenbryda. Every time he woke he feared her shallow breaths might have stopped in the night, every hour he did not devote to maintaining that flickering spark spent in a tome. The Ascian's magic, steeped in darkness as it was, made the wound a roiling, seething mass that refused all traditional treatment. Easing one malady made it spawn another, twisting and changing on fickle whims. The wound itself had closed under their healing magics, though it had left a deep, purple scar. But its effects would not lift so easily.
Until he had been made an offer.
He had told none of it. Such were the conditions of his benefactor, though he would not have breathed a word even without them. He had been offered hope, and all it would cost was his integrity. A price paid glady for her life.
But none of the others had asked him. It had been but one more desperate manoeuvre, one more shot in the dark. That this one had proven true was not cause for concern, merely a reason to celebrate.
It felt too convenient, too contrived. Urianger was not a well-practised reader of men, much less those who hid their faces, but he had seemed sincere enough in his proclamation that Nabriales - the Ascian Moenbryda had proven instrumental in sending to the Lifestream - had been acting under a most unapproved remit. Though the lives of mortals mattered little to they who claimed to deal in the fate of the star, so too did the offering of her life thus cost little to offer to him in return for his co-operation. Minfilia, too, had spoken of Elidibus with more respect than any of them had for the fiend Lahabrea. Not trust, no, not of their enemy. But an understanding of the table at which they met to parley. Thus had he rationalised it.
It gave him an eye on the enemy's most trusted, even if he could not breathe a word of it. Such a thing would prove useful in the days ahead, if he could manipulate events well enough that his vow of silence did not matter.
It gave him the hope he had been denied. When Moenbryda did not pay the price for it, and no innocent cried out in pain for it, surely then it was worth it?
He could not fail her a second time. His heart could not bear the ache of it, to let down so dear a friend.
Moenbryda had always hated to be idle.
She spent precious few hours each day with Urianger, he with a book in his hands and she with a weight that would have been trivial to lift before her injury, doing exercises to strengthen her muscles. It had quickly become apparent that it would be quite some time before she was picking Urianger up whole cloth again - moons, perhaps. She chafed under the restrictions.
"The redness hath spread," Urianger said, squinting at her torso from behind his goggles. "Thou knowest thy charge-"
"Yes, yes, rest more, do less," Moenbryda said, gritting her teeth against the frustration of it. "There's so much to be done, Urianger. I can't even fetch my own books."
"Thou needst but ask, and I shall deliver unto thee any tome-"
"which I desireth, I know," Moenbryda said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "It's not the same. You know it's not the same." She felt her wrist tremble as she lifted the weight, and bit back the vulgar epithet that rose to her tongue in response.
"Aye, well do I remember the times thou wert evicted most acrimoniously from the library," Urianger agreed, with all the grace of a karakul falling from a mountain. "For 'tis not a book well won if thou hast not fought the many-headed spectre of the pile of tomes before thee."
"I put them back sometimes," Moenbryda disagreed. "When does it end, Urianger?"
"Little serveth as more greivous a curse than forcing thy legs to be still," he sympathised, turning the tome in his lap so she could see the diagrams of the exercise a little better. "Indeed, thy frustration art potent enough to cause mine own resolve to waver."
"So I can go for a bit of a walk?" Moenbryda tried, but he shook his head.
"'Twould still be unwise to do such unsupervised," he disagreed. "Though there are full many of the Crystal Braves to catch you, should you falter." Moenbryda thought about the chances of having an embarrassing tumble saved by someone like Laurentius, and grimaced so deeply it hurt.
"No, no, chirurgeon's orders, I understand," she allowed. "And… thanks. For putting up with this." That seemed to startle him - he made a little noise, but had no words to follow it up for several seconds, a most uncharacteristic thing. A shame the shade cast by his hood made it hard to see if he'd blushed.
"This is the very least that I owe to thee, after my summons called thee hence to thy misfortune," he said, a grave tone to his voice. For a moment, Moenbryda almost believed he was dumb enough to blame himself for what had happened. "Here I shall remain until thy journey to health doth see completion."
"Well, you might be here a while," she said, wincing as an arm movement caused another spike of pain. "I'm not going to be a good patient." He chuckled at that.
"Then it is thy good fortune indeed that I am possessed of naught but time in surplus."
"…A banquet, I'm told, in the Warrior of Light's honour…"
"…All in Ul'dah will turn out for the occasion…"
Urianger sat in a mostly empty Rising Stones. He preferred the quiet in most times, but it felt passing strange for a room usually so full of life to be so empty.
He had not been asked to accompany them to their latest social venture. He would have declined, of course, having far more important tasks to attend to, but there had not been so much as a glance his way. Perhaps that was for the better.
The movement caught his eye, no telltale flash of blue this time to accompany it as Riol sat opposite him at the otherwise empty table.
"Art thou not bound for Ul'dah on this most joyous day?" Urianger asked, hoping he had concealed how it took him aback. Riol cracked a half-smile. The other half, today, seemed like a grimace.
"Much better places to be these days," he disagreed. "Look, we've not much time afore they get back here. Grab your girl. We're leaving."
"Beg pardon?" Urianger said, unease building in the pit of his stomach. If something was wrong, should Riol not be with the other Scions, where the threat was most likely to manifest?
"Ah, right. I'll grab your girl. With me," he said, and the settling panic pulled Urianger from the chair to follow him. The grave mischaracterisation of his acquaintence with Moenbryda was far from the deepest of his current concerns, but he felt the need to defend her honour as a scholar and a warrior before anything else. The only thing that felt familiar, perhaps, in this maelstrom of strangeness.
"Archon Moenbryda is far more than simply a lady of my acquaintance," he began, and Riol made an irritated noise.
"We don't have time for this, tomes. Trust me," he said, tone clipped, as he opened the door to Moenbryda's room without so much as a knock.
"Little early for physical therapy, isn't it?" she said, before realising who exactly stood before her. "And you didn't even knock! I could have been indecent."
"You're always indecent, if the gossip tells true," Riol returned. "We need to leave. Now."
"Our compatriot hath not delivered unto me an explanation-"
"There's no time. When we're out I'll go over it," Riol snapped. "Up with you." He hefted Moenbryda to her feet with only a small exertion, her arm over his shoulder and a stick shoved unceremoniously into her free hand. For all Urianger had not the strength to carry her from the building, some of his grace was preserved by Riol also not quite being able to sling her across his back.
"Whoa! Alright, alright," Moenbryda managed. "My books-"
"I'll sneak them out for you later," Riol replied. "Things are about to get real hairy. Keep up, tomes."
They staggered out into the crisp night air, no blanket of purple to confuse their senses, for a mercy. Moenbryda had kept up a steady stream of complaints, even when her injuries had made such things difficult, and Urianger had not had but a moment to raise a query of his own.
In the aetheryte plaza, there was a chocobo carriage, and its driver raised a hand in cheerful greeting as Riol approached.
"Alright. No. What's going on?" Moenbryda demanded. "I'm not getting in some random carriage without something."
"I must support her words," Urianger agreed. Riol shrugged with his free shoulder.
"Sure, alright. I'd do the same," he allowed. "Ilberd's planning a coup. I've no way to get more help than I already have to the fine folks in Ul'dah, so I'm getting you out in case it gets bloody."
"Treasonous snake!" Moenbryda exclaimed, which made Riol shush her, eyes darting about for signs of any blue-clad Braves.
"I'll fetch the rest of your stuff at an opportune moment. Our mutual friend here will get you somewhere safe." He nodded to the cart driver as he said it. "When it's blown over I'll come get you. Or your friends will, unless something goes horribly wrong."
"An ill portent…" Urianger said, the concern in his breast only increasing. They had not asked him to accompany them - but what if they had? He had little recourse against large groups of armed soldiers, the attack on the Waking Sands had proved that well enough. A sobering thought. Surely they did not want the Scions dead, after everything they had done for the Realm?
Men would do things most dark for power, though, this he knew well.
"Alright. Just make sure you get my books - I have important notes in them," Moenbryda allowed, before hissing in pain as Riol hefted her into the carriage. Urianger clambered in behind her with as much swiftness as he could manage, healing magic already gathering at the tips of his fingers.
"Well, no promises with this lot," Riol said. "Safe travels."
It was not a quiet cart ride, but it might as well have been.
Wheels clattered on the cobbles of Mor Dhona, then thunked against the packed dirt of the roads out of the Toll. The steady thump-thump-thump of the chocobo's feet provided a steady rhythm to think to. And Moenbryda certainly had enough of them.
The idea that the Braves might stage a coup was ridiculous. Not that she disbelieved Riol - he had better credentials than half the blue-clad brutes - but the disrespect was cutting. If she'd not been as good as bound to her bed…
…She would have rushed in and got herself hurt again.
Urianger had been silent since they'd got into the back fo the cart. His mouth was drawn into a pensive line, fingers tapping on the back of his hand nervously. His friends hadn't invited him to the Banquet. He would've hated it, of course, so it didn't surprise her, but the consequences this time were deeper than any of them could have predicted.
She should have been there with them. She'd only been in Eorzea for barely a moon, and she still felt that. For Urianger it must have been so much worse. Yet he sat in silence here with her, instead of rushing to their aid.
Like as not he knew he couldn't do anything to help them, just as she did. He had watched over Alphinaud and Alisaie since they had arrived in Eorzea, and he had failed to notice the storm Alphinaud was brewing with his project. They all had. She'd found Laurentius especially to be detestable, but she had assumed it to be a mere clash of personalities, not a sign of something deeper.
The cart rumbled to a halt with a whistle from the bird in the harness, stopped in the middle of a little village just far enough out of the Shroud to still be in Thanalan. The driver hopped down from his seat, ambling around to the back of the cart as if they weren't on the run from a dangerous coup.
"Here's a set o' keys I was told to leave in y' hands," he said, pressing them into Urianger's palm. "Need a hand down, miss?"
"No," she said.
"Thy assistance would be appreciated," Urianger disagreed, almost concurrently with her answer. She scowled, then winced when trying to sit up caused another spike of pain.
"…Ok, maybe a little. For his sake," she allowed, which got a chuckle out of their driver. Urianger, too, got to his feet, and between the two of them, she staggered her way out of the cart. She grabbed the cane - more of a stick, really, terribly balanced - that Riol had given her, leaning on it to try and avoid having to lean on Urianger any more.
"'S that house back there," their driver said, thumbing over his shoulder to a nearby abode. "Should let y' get nice an' cosy."
"My thanks," Urianger said. "Hath the debt for our travel been settled by our companion?"
"Aye, both ways. No worries," the driver agreed. "We never met, if they ask. G'night to ya."
"Well, at least someone's got some integrity," Moenbryda muttered.
Urianger helped Moenbryda inside, she lamenting the loss of her books and the generally rancid air of the Crystal Braves all the meanwhile. The cottage was a quaint little place, only a few rooms to it, and Urianger made certain that Moenbryda was settled in the larger of the two beds before she collapsed from the exhaustion of the day.
"They'll be ok," she said, leaning back against the headboard with a visible look of relief on her face. "Of course they will be." Urianger said nothing on the matter. His presence would have made little difference to whatever outcome awaited them come morning. He doubted they posed enough of a threat for the Braves to even wish to remove, though he certainly preferred not having to live under their watchful gaze. He played the role that was needed of him, and if that put him on the sidelines of the Scions, so be it.
"I shall inform thee should I receive a missive ere the sun riseth," he said, getting to his feet.
"Urianger."
He paused. The lilt had gone from her voice, that she had taken such great pains to preserve even through her convalescence.
"It's not your fault."
"I fear thou hast mistaken me," he said. "There was little I could have done." She shook her head.
"That's what I mean. It's not your fault that… that this happened. That we couldn't do anything to change it. Sometimes fate's got you beat, you know?" Urianger looked away, if only to stop his gaze from drifting to her midriff, where the scar lay hidden beneath her shirt.
"Full many a moon did I spend cloistered within the library, mine eyes ever ravenous for tomes and treatise upon the wheels of fate," he said, his voice quiet. "Though it hath served me on a rare occasion, I instead am pulled upon its currents. Power doth escape my grasp, if I ever did reach out for it at all."
"Even astrology isn't foolproof, no matter what that addled coot Sylvestre thinks," Moenbryda said.
"'Twas my strength, and those few moments where such divinings might have served me, fate hath cast me unto a cruel and unknowable sea," Urianger replied. "Man cannot hope to forsee each small piece. Yet even the grand and sweeping acts hath been plucked from my sight." He held in the sigh. "It bespeaketh a loss of form. Of complacency. A third time, I shalt suffer not."
"Let me know when you figure out which star tells you Ilberd's a jackass, then," Moenbryda allowed.
Morning did not come with news.
The old adage said no news was good news, but Moenbryda found it hard to believe as she watched Urianger pace by the window instead of pulling more exercises from his collection of tomes. Admittedly he no longer had the tome collection, but Moenbryda had never known that to stop him.
Still, she had no desire to sit about idly, and since she couldn't pace nervously without a significant amount of effort, she had begun the exercises alone. Raising and lowering her arms, tilting her upper body to the side, all kinds of little movements that reminded the wound that it needed to stretch. It hurt less than it had when she'd started them, at least.
It had been too long healing, though. Rehabilitation was never a quick process, she knew, but there had been so little change. Admittedly, none of the very few books she had read on the subject had dealt with wounds that glowed purple brightly enough to act as a night-light, but the basic principles had to be at least somewhat similar.
She'd begun to get used to the idea of it, she realised. Starting and ending her days attempting to regain her form, Urianger taking her through exercises she otherwise wouldn't have the patience for. No longer a part of the hustle and bustle so directly, but still surrounded by people she valued. People she cared about.
Now they were alone, and she felt it. Urianger was here, but he was also absent, every thought consumed with anxious fretting. She'd never even said her thanks to Y'shtola for her occasional visits with tea to talk about how things were going - she had assumed she'd be able to repay the favour when she was recovered.
Again the regrets began to line up.
She bit back the hiss of pain as an ambitious movement made the wound flare up, just like it always did. Urianger all but spun on the spot, crossing the room to her without a moment's hesitation.
"Art thou well? Our journey was most unexpected…" he began, and Moenbryda waved away his concern with one hand.
"Fine. Just doing my exercises," she assured him. There was a moment of silence from Urianger as he processed the words.
"Thou requirest not mine assistance?"
There was no hurt in his tone. No guilt, at least not towards her. Towards himself, perhaps, if the way he shrunk in on himself was any indication. Hiding himself in that oversized robe so as not to be an inconvenience.
There would never be time if she didn't make it.
"Require? Not really," she said. "But I do like it."
"I am divested of my tomes, bereft of the knowledge that guideth me," he tried, and she cracked a smile.
"Well, we've done them enough times I've got them down. Care to spot me? It's not the most traditional training area, I'll admit, but it'll do."
Urianger made a noise. It had probably been meant as something dignified, but came out halfway between a burble and a squeak.
"I fear I hath not the strength to… ah, spot thee," he managed. "But we shall expand upon thine existant notes." He hovered at the edge of the bed, mimicking the motions with her like he had a dozen, maybe a hundred times before. Hold the tension, then release. If they kept it up, he might even grow a little muscle.
"It means a lot to me," she said. Perhaps the way her pulse picked up was just from the lingering pain of the exercises. "That you stayed with me, I mean. Even when I was difficult."
"Thou wert never a troublesome patient," Urianger replied.
"Liar," Moenbryda shot back. He was still a gods-awful liar, even after all this time.
"I was not there for thee when the Ascian did make to strike thee down," he said, his voice somber. "I was not there for thee when thou didst perform thy groundbreaking feats of aetherology. That I do this-"
"And I couldn't have done those feats if you hadn't told me to come here," she shot back. "You said the Scions needed me, and you were right. It's not all about who's at the front, you know. Sometimes it's about knowing who to call. And you always do."
"And yet I am without recourse in this darkest of hours," he said. "Our allies have been strewn about the cruel winds of fate's breeze, far beyond our humble reach."
"But we're both here, aren't we?" she countered. "You and me. And Riol, too, assuming he makes good on bringing me those books." The threat was implicit in her tone. "And if I had to pick one person to be stuck in a hideout with, it'd be you every time."
"Thou knowest not what thou say'st," he said, his voice quiet.
"Come on. Have you ever known me to not know what I'm about?" she replied, reaching out for his hand. He pulled away, stepped back from her, and it was hard to read quite why. The uneasy stance spoke of fear, but what did he have to fear from her?
"Certain though I am that thou art steady in thy course, it leadest thee to a false harbour," he said.
"What?"
"For thy safety, I…" She saw his head turn almost imperceptibly towards the window, before he shook it adamantly. "I cannot say."
"Wait!" she exclaimed, but he was through the door before she could so much as sit up. "Stubborn idiot."
Urianger had always liked his mysterious airs, but it was rare for him to use them with her. She knew him better than anyone, or at least she'd always thought so. He didn't like letting people get close, even though he always wanted them to. But this was different.
There was only one thing for it.
With a huff of effort, she turned herself in the bed, and heaved herself upright. The scar throbbed with pain with every movement, so she employed her training to grit her teeth and bear it. Not the optimal way to axe fight, but it had got her through more than one scrape.
Slowly - not by choice but by necessity - she made her way over to the door Urianger had made his graceless exit through. All but kicked it open - subtlety wasn't her strong point at the best of times, but she would make do with what she had.
He was pacing. When the door opened, he froze on the spot. Moenbryda staggered between him and the exit, though he looked spooked enough to go for the window.
"Why hast thou risen-"
"You bloody well know why. Now sit down and stop being a stubborn chocobo's arse before I fall over," she cut in. Chastened, he slunk over to the table, sitting in one of the rickety wooden chairs the safehouse had come with. Moenbryda wasn't entirely convinced it would hold her weight, though a stick-thin specimen like Urianger was no trouble, but she was not going to be upright for much longer regardless.
It creaked, as she fell into it indelicately, but it held up. One less ignoble tumble for the books.
"Look," she started, and saw him tense at the word. "It's alright if you don't - if I overstepped." She hadn't said anything, not really, but she had been halfway there, and they both knew it. "But you're a scholar. Cite your sources." Urianger paused. She could imagine the confused blink hiding behind his goggles.
"Thou art requesting… a formal citation for mine uncertainty?" he clarified, and she nodded.
"You know 'the mysterious darkness that lurks in the hearts of men' wouldn't stand up to a thesis defence panel," she confirmed. Urianger let out a long breath.
"I fear that should I tell thee of my doings, t'would put thee in gravest danger," he said, and she raised an eyebrow at that.
"Graver than glowing purple at night?" she said, and he flinched.
"I could not protect thee from the Ascian's assault," he said. "Nor could any, not even thy prodigious skill. This failure I had accepted." He linked his hands together over the table, staring down at the wood rather than at her. "But I couldst not even rouse thee from death's slumber. Thy life held on by but a thread, and I feared to pull upon it, lest it unravel before the mending."
"How long was it?" Moenbryda asked.
"A moon, but for a day," he replied. "Full many nights did I spend at thy side, reading every tome that our compatriots could procure for me. Many depths did I dive into, and found naught to avail thee of thy predicament."
"But you did in the end," she said, and he shook his head.
"Nay," he disagreed. "I did not." Another breath, his fingers interlocking so tightly the skin pulled white. "For the knowledge which pulled thee from death's door, I didst make a deal."
"A… deal?" Moenbryda repeated. The words felt chilling. What could you even deal with? He hadn't anticipated the betrayal of the Braves, so it had been no mundane selling out. A voidsent? They knew nothing about healing, although they certainly had the purple glowing down pat. Hells, there were any number of shady figures he could've dealt with, especially in Ul'dah. But he wouldn't have been afraid of them.
"I didst pledge a measure of my support to their cause," he continued. "Though I have little intent to aid them deeply. I had hoped to watch, that I might relay their movements, but…"
"Cut the crap. Who," she demanded.
"Elidibus."
Ascians.
There was a moment of quiet, an uneasy silence stretching out between them, before Moenbryda began to laugh.
"P-pray contain thyself," Urianger tried, flustered in the wake of it. "I promise thee I jesteth not-"
"No, no, I believe you," Moenbryda managed, hiding the last of the laughter behind her hands. "It's just- it's perfect."
"Perfect?" Urianger repeated, bemused. Clearly he had expected her to take this significantly less well than she had.
"You plucked the trick to healing their own mortal wound right from their commander!" she said. "And got yourself an in to watch their movements, to boot. A little shady, sure, but don't you see? You won."
"I hath won no content 'til mine efforts doth bear fruit," he disagreed, but she shook her head.
"They already have," she disagreed. "We're talking, aren't we?"
He paused. Considered. Then managed his own feeble chuckle.
"Aye, we are," he agreed. "A miracle I thought impossible to pluck from the heavens, yet the earth did move regardless." He looked over at her. "Thou must speak not a word to our compatriots, when we are reunited. If the Ascian doth suspect a betrayal…"
"Yeah, I'd rather keep you in one piece. No worries there," she agreed. "And here was me thinking you'd sold my soul to a voidsent."
"Nay, I doth prefer thy soul within thy body," he disagreed. "Even when thou dost pry into my deepest secrets."
"Someone has to," she said with an easy shrug. "Otherwise you'd just sit there and stew in them. So, do I get another go at this?" Urianger smiled, ever so slightly.
"If thou canst look beyond my litany of failures and my conflicting loyalties besides, then thou art welcome," he replied.
"Conflicted, pssh," Moenbryda dismissed. "They'd have to be on the good stuff to seriously think you're riding the Calamity train." She cleared her throat then, shifting slightly in her seat. It wasn't nerves, of course. Just a lingering discomfort. "What I was trying to say was I'd be happy to wake up every day to you. Even if this never gets any better. Even if your erstwhile charges happen to get us into some deep shite every so often."
"'Twas a good heart that forged the Braves, but a poor eye that watched them," Urianger mused, entirely missing the point.
"So, what do you say?" Moenbryda said, holding out a hand across the table towards him. "Even if the stars don't have your back, I'll catch you."
"'Twould be mine honour and privilege," Urianger replied, and gently touched his fingers to hers.
It seemed a strange place to find a measure of joy.
To wake once more to no news, or worse, the sensationalised pieces that filled the gaps. The Scions gone, the Warrior of Light vanished without word - and rightly so, with the bounty out on the head of every member of the Scions in the wake of the betrayal.
But he spent each day with her.
Nothing had changed. They still stayed fixed in their isolation, eyes alert for any telltale flash of blue. Only Riol's delivery of the tomes he had promised provided any difference to their day to day. But there was a newfound ease to weathering it.
Moenbryda's condition had stabilised, and she had her eyes on her work with auracite - and the knowledge she had pried from his lips - to finding a path forward. She had always been very physical with her friendship, but there was a tenderness in the way she grabbed his hands to pull him over.
He didn't know that he deserved her kindness, her care - her love. All the ways he had failed her seemed to dwarf what affection might have coalesced between them. But she sought it regardless, and he was loathe to fail her one more time.
It was the same. She and him, persisting despite it all, hunkered down in their bubble with books in hand. Full many times in their lives had they done this, and somehow the feeling was still familiar despite the words spoken between them.
She had always held his heart. What blessings, then, that she would entrust hers unto him.