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[How things come full circle. How it wasn't so long ago at all that she was the one coming apart, and he the one determined to hold her together.]

Breathe, love.

[And so she echoes his own words back at him, trusting that he'll remember. Peace, and caring, and protectiveness, and warmth.]

Let it be an adventure, then. One you're accompanying us on. And like Raha says, we'll all find out together.

[It takes no thought at all to weave her fingers through G'raha's. It never has, not since she found him again, not since so many things have tried to take him away no matter how tightly she holds on.]

Let us tell you a story. And then, when it's done, we can all start writing the next.

[ Summer bids him to breathe and he does, pathetically grateful for one thing he can do that is simple and not so emotionally loaded. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut and breathes like his was taught to do so many years ago, breathing the world in and himself out until his borders become less distinct and his distress seems small in comparison to the vast sea of life around him.

It isn't that it doesn't matter, but it's comforting to know that the world doesn't feel as easily, foolishly fragile as he does. It allows the tremors to work themselves from his shoulders and hands until he is still, and breathing, and not at peace, exactly, but no longer completely overwhelmed.

He relaxes slowly, one muscle at a time, until he lets his arms drop down, until he brushes his fingers hesitantly over G'raha's hand. Already so poorly controlled, the synch is instinctive, as is the soft outflow of aether, for once seeking rather than offering comfort. The dregs of his panic still flutter through him, but he is listening, breathing, attempting to simply be instead of tying himself in knots. ]

Sorry. [ He knows G'raha said not to apologize, but he still feels he ought to, from behind the shield of his knees. ] I don't know how...

[ He turns his head just enough to look at Summer, peering at her from under the mess that's become of his hair.

It had already felt like such an enormous step, to him, when they'd been on the island, when he'd sat with G'raha and Summer in that hut after willingly speaking even one of his lesser secrets to him. That he'd cried on Summer's shoulder. That he'd been bold enough to intrude on their sleep. In a way, it's good to have it affirmed that those things were welcome. To have it affirmed again, in what he picks up empathically by either connection, that this is no lie nor trick, that there is genuine affection (is that the right word for it?) of a sort he's not felt directed toward him before.

It's also fucking terrifying, like he edged one step forward into what he thought was a pond and suddenly found himself in water up to his cheekbones. And... mortifying, to find himself caught to off guard, so far behind, so ignorant of how to interact with others while he's still trying to even sort out if he should, if he could.

But an adventure, perhaps, as Summer said. A journey. He'd once wanted that, desperately, so much that he'd left his home behind for it, to everyone's detriment. Perhaps this sort of thing will end in a similarly soul-shattering disaster. But he still longs for it, still feels that secret heart urge him yes.

And every adventure starts with a single step, and that isn't so terrible, is it? ]

Please, just one step at a time. Please.

Edited 2022-06-28 04:38 (UTC)

One step at a time. I promise.

[ It is a promise to both Ezar and a reminder to himself that he should be more patient, that he should pick his words with more care. Lyna would shake her head at him to see him being so dramatic again, he knows she would.

The synch is, of course, easy to share his feelings with. He projects warmth and understanding, showing Ezar that he's not hurt at all by anything he's said. And there's a tinge of apology as well, for the fact that he did not pace himself.

He squeezes both their hands - Summer and Ezar's - again, his tails flicking behind him, much like his tail would when it is happy.

He lets Ezar have some time to breathe before he speaks again, his tone deceptively light again. ]

Would you still like to hear our story? I meant what I said - tis no maliciousness that kept it from you before.

[The mug of water he'd brought for her earlier is still around somewhere; it takes Summer a second to track down where she'd abandoned it, but when she does she retrieves it and eases herself up from the floor to go refill it with cold water from the kitchen sink tap. This, too, brings something full circle: he'd fetched it in to help soothe and calm her, and when she rejoins them she returns it to him, taking Ezar's free hand and pressing the mug against his palm, carefully guiding each of his clawed fingers to curl around it until he's got it snugly held.]

Or. If it's too much to make decisions right now, then you needn't. If you'd rather I decide for you, I will.

[She'd had to drop G'raha's hand in order to see to the water; now that she's back on her feet, she gravitates back to his side, this time leaning up against his shoulder by way of making contact. Present, but giving Ezar his space.]

Shall I? All you have to say is yes or no.

Edited 2022-06-28 16:29 (UTC)

[ One step at a time. He can do that. One step, and then another, and then the third might be easier still. But he only has to think about one step at a time instead of the sheer enormity of... everything G'raha and Summer were saying.

He will no doubt be ashamed about this later, for how pathetic he is in this moment, driven to near hysterics by two people being affectionate toward him and thinking better of him than he does of himself. But for now he is grateful, holding the cup of water like it's a lifeline and not like he ought to be drinking it.

And more grateful still, for what Summer offers. An even easier decision yet; all he has to do is trust her. All he has to do is let her be the sky and give himself over to the fall.

He raises his head enough to look at her and bobs his head in a little nod. Yes, please. ]

Before we get into the telling of stories, might I suggest a more comfortable locale?

[ He gives Ezar's hand another squeeze, projecting warmth and fondness. ]

You'll be able to stretch out those wings if we rest in the living room.

[ he'd normally suggest the bedroom but - he doesn't want to give Ezar the wrong impression. If Summer wants to suggest it, he won't stop her.

Either way, he waits for Ezar to finish his water before he helps him down, and starts to move them somewhere more comfortable. Wherever they end up, he'll sit down first and indicate they should sit with him. ]

That's it. Go with Raha and sit where he tells you. I'll join you soon.

[Because there's one thing in particular she needs to do first, and waits until they've got Ezar untangled from the sink vanity and back on his feet before letting herself back out into the apartment proper again, ahead of them.

It's odd how easy it is to slip back into a semblance of confidence simply because there are more important things than being upset, now. And, in its fashion, this too is as much of a distraction as any of the others she'd been begging for not long before. There's a relief in this, too — to take it all and box it up and set it away in favor of being what someone else needs.

And knowing what someone else needs occasionally extends to the little things along with the big ones, which is why she darts into the apartment first and rounds up her Ultros, carrying him wriggling into the bedroom where she correctly assumes Wind-Up Mystel is sleeping, and deposits him there before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Three mammets accounted for, and none on the loose to bother them while they talk. Ultros can serve a little jail time for Ezar's sake, this go-around.

When she rejoins them in the living room, she picks whichever of Graha's sides is currently unoccupied and settles in next to him, almost automatically leaning into his side and bringing her head to rest on his shoulder.]

The kitchen cupboard has a knife in it.

[She remarks, smooth and low, as she settles in.]

If you find yourself looking for one, later.

[ Ezar follows G'raha with his head down and his shoulders hunched, a combination of residual stress and embarrassment. But he's still horribly, horribly grateful to have clear, simple things he can do, things that he doesn't have to think about, things that have no greater implications and require no answers. Follow G'raha. Sit with G'raha. Wait for Summer.

Ezar starts out leaning against G'raha a little awkwardly, but when Summer joins them he finally just gives in to the dragon-urge and moves to lay down, curling protectively around both of them--ridiculous, when he's been such a mess, but instinct is instinct--so that he ends up with his head in G'raha's lap, careful to not poke the man with his horns, chest against his back, legs against Summer's back, and his tail wrapped fully around Summer's waist. Only then does he fully relax, arms and wings sprawled out comfortably.

He mumbles against G'raha's leg: ] Said your kitchen was haunted.

Perfect for making some sandwiches later, maybe.

[ He answer Summer smoothly as she sits back down, letting Ezar arrange himself until he's comfortable as he can be. As soon as he is, G'raha reaches down to stroke his fingers through Ezar's hair, teasing the rolanberry colored strands between his fingers. He leans his head against Summer's, resting his cheek on top of her head. ]

Haunted by the spirits of my past, maybe.

[ He says it lightly, and after a moment he clears his throat. He briefly explains how Summer and he had met - the research expedition at the Crystal Tower. He spoke of Xanda, Unei and Doga, and how he had come to be in possession of two Allagan eyes instead of just one.

He glances to Summer as he explains that he had sealed himself in the tower, confident that he would only wake when humanity was strong enough to open its doors and be worthy of the technology within ... ]

That was not, however, the situation I found myself waking up to.

[ He details the experiences he had in the timeline of the eighth umbral calamity, of working with the Ironworks. Of a world that wanted the Warrior of Light back, and how he could not bear to live in a world that Summer's life had ended early in. He explains the reflections of the Source, and how they had determined the First had caused the Eighth Umbral. ]

I... with the permission, I suppose, of some of its people. I took the Crystal Tower from that timeline and abandoned them. I took the device back with me to the First. My aim was not as true as I had hoped, and I arrived 100 years before the Calamity actually happened on the First.

[ Again he details his work. The planning of an entire city, based on Old Sharlayan but also in consideration of how Summer might see it. How he sought to work trade with the Tribes of the First - not just because they were people, but because they had always been the people that Summer took to most easily. And he needed her to care for the place he would ask her to protect, because he could not give her G'raha Tia to protect in its place.

He speaks of his plan as well. To ask her to take the Light into her, and then take it away and seal himself in the void between worlds. How that was always intended to be his goal.

He stops when he mentions his first attempts at bringing her in, glancing to Summer to see if she would like to offer the story from her perspective instead. ]

You know...it wasn't until after the doors closed behind you that I realized how much I wished you hadn't left.

[Had her future self ever said this to him, in the time between what she remembers now and wherever she ends up in G'raha's recollection? Mayhap she has. But it's still the right place to start her own telling of things, and she rubs her cheek against G'raha's shoulder as she does, her tail draping easily over Ezar's where it curls around her.]

I always went back, every time I was in Mor Dhona. I don't know why. I just...wasn't ready to lose you yet, I suppose. Of course, Alphinaud's Crystal Braves had other ideas.

[And there's far, far too much to tell if she were to try every detail, but there's a clear and obvious theme to the points she pauses to dwell on: her exile from Ul'dah and flight to Ishgard. How they'd sheltered her, but with implicit prices and conditions attached. The unwelcoming airs of the Halonic church and the Heaven's Ward. Tataru's inquisition and subsequent trial by combat.

It's important that it be known, how for all that she may care for Ishgard now, it didn't always care for her. It didn't welcome her with open arms. It didn't make her feel safe.]

First it was Ishgard. Then came Ala Mhigo, where I met —

[She doesn't mean for her breath to hitch, but it does.]

Where I caught the attention of the imperial prince. Zenos yae Galvus.

[And again, the nature of her tale follows a similar theme. The feeling of being hunted. The helplessness of confronting an enemy too powerful to surmount. The obsession. The fixation. The nightmares. Until at last: ]

Not long after the liberation of Ala Mhigo, the other Scions and I started hearing a voice calling out to us in our minds. Searching for something. For me, it turned out. Only it kept finding my friends instead of me. Spiriting them away, one by one.

[She'll let G'raha decide how much he wants to clarify the manner in which they were spirited away. Part of them, at least.]

When he finally found me, I was fighting the prince again. And all of a sudden I couldn't move. Couldn't get up. Couldn't lift my arms to cast a spell. And I could just barely see Zenos through the haze, drawing closer and closer and —

[She stops short.]

It's the reason I let a man I knew nothing about, who'd forcibly taken my friends, take me too. Because he said he needed me, and after what had happened on the battlefield I — I was selfish enough to want to be as far from Zenos as I could be. So that I wouldn't have to face him again. I thought anything, in that moment, would be better than that.

[ Ezar breathes out a contented sigh at the feeling of G'raha's fingers in his hair. The tip of his tail slowly moves against Summer's stomach, an idle, unthinking caress as he listens, eyes half-closed.

He does not move or react much more than making the occasional murmur to indicate that he's listening until Summer mentions Ala Mhigo. The name of the place hits him like a shock, his tail stilling, fingers of one hand curling into a fist against G'raha's back. But all he says, a murmur that's not really directed at anyone, is: ]

Ah, so we won at Ala Mhigo. They're free. It was worth it, after all.

[ He may not have saved anyone personally, but he contributed to that victory in his own small way. The thought is more than he's ever had. Some meaning to take from his death, some small measure of peace it grants him that resonates in what threads of synchronicity there are.

And there's levity, at least, in learning more of G'raha. Of being able to return to an older, gentle mockery. And with his panic and anxiety receded now, he remembers himself, the way he's supposed to speak with that thick accent, and it's enough of a habit even around G'raha and Summer still. ]

So what I've learned of G'raha is that he can't bleedin' aim and when he does he snatches people up out of their clothes.

[ He smiles against the man's leg. In a strange way, with all the ludicrous amount of power being spoken up, the deeds of import, that makes G'raha feel more like a person and less like someone he ought to assiduously avoid out of self-protection.

The continuation of the story draws him back to silence. He's aware of Zenos, hates him with the passion of a soldier that's seen the destruction he's left behind and tried, inadequately, to pick up the pieces. He certainly can't blame Summer for wishing to escape the man; many would have liked to be able to and never had the chance. ]

[ G'raha is reminded of the first time he wandered into Ezar's dreams - the thick smoke and smell of blood and ceruleum in the streets of Ala Mhigo. So when he says they won, he strokes his fingers against his scalp. ]

They did, and you helped.

[ But it's the only comment he gives Ezar for the moment. Then the comment about his aim and he gives a soft indignant sound. ]

I would ask either of you to use an untested magic and to aim it precisely where you wanted it. In truth... I am not as skilled a mage as Summer or Y'shtola Rhul. What I lacked in finesse, I made up for in the amount of power I could draw from the Tower.

[ And he sighs. ]

The best way I could protect Summer was to convince her to stay on the First. Should she come to blows on the Source with Zenos and win, she would force the Emperor's hand in using Black Rose.

[ He details, again, his request to have her absorb the Light after she found her compatriots. But then he pauses. ]

She began visiting me, after defeating the first Lightwarden. I assumed, at first, it had to do with my concealed identity. I could also tell the aether was roiling within her. And yet she did not ask for relief or pry about who I was. She simply ... asked me to speak with her, and tell her stories.

Edited 2022-06-29 00:27 (UTC)

...Oh. Were you — you were at Ala Mhigo. With the Maelstrom?

[It's more a rhetorical question than a real one, but still, it earns Ezar a light squeeze, herself.]

Well, if you weren't present to hear Pipin's speech to my thaumaturges, I'll have to reenact it sometime for you. Though my rendition won't be as good.

[But now, here, comes the part of the tale that has her subconsciously drawing in on herself a little. Hiding in the First. Absorbing the primordial light. Knowing something was wrong. Knowing she couldn't say it to anyone, except one person.]

Mayhap it sounds ridiculous, how easily I was willing to put my faith in the Crystal Exarch. He'd taken my friends. Scared us all half to death, not knowing what was happening to them or why.

But...he came running to see me when I arrived. Called me his guest, and treated me like one. He asked me for nothing and offered me everything. To answer all my questions, to help me see my friends straight away. Arranged for lodgings just for me. Showed me around the city so I wouldn't get lost. Showed me that it was a place so unlike Ishgard and Ul'dah.

[She laughs softly, under her breath.]

I love the Amalj'aa. One of my tutors in black magic is one. But in Ul'dah they're mistreated, scorned, feared...and yet there in the Crystarium, they were just...around. Earning livelihoods, just like anyone else. There wasn't an eye batted about it.

[And now, she casts a sidelong glance at G'raha, arch and knowing.]

Of course I loved his city. I still love the Crystarium. How could I do anything else? It's just as he said — it was made for me to love.

Small wonder I grew to love the man who made it, really.

[ It's a strange reminder, that G'raha has seen that recurring nightmare of his, of the battle, of his useless death. He wonders what the man has taken from it, what conclusions he's come to. But to ask feels too self-indulgent... and too raw. It's another truth he's never spoken aloud, and he still has no desire to. What difference would it make, to any of them?

The only further comment Ezar makes about Ala Mhigo is in answer to Summer, a quiet: ] Aye, I was.

[ The rest, he listens to like the story it is, because it sounds very much like fantasy. His tail resumes it's slow, steady motion against Summer's side. He sighs. ]

Sounds like a lovely place. Somewhere no one has to hide, mayhap. I'd've liked to see it.

[ She looks at him, arch - and he looks at her with a lopsided smile, a fond one, reminiscent of his days as the Exarch. In that moment it's clear how much he cherishes the memories of their time on the first, even if he is not quite the same man who spent one hundred years waiting for her.

He looks down at Ezar, after. ]

One day, you may. Without the need to have someone drag you across the space between stars, perhaps... several of our number left precious people behind. My granddaughter, for one. I should be happy to see her again if we discover how to cross between shards.

[ His fingers twist and curl into Ezar's hair, then gently uncurl and smooth out the patterns he's made with his fingers. ]

There was, of course, a flaw in the plan to have her gather Light. And that was that we were working against an organization that wanted nothing other than to rejoin the shards together for their own people.

[ Gingerly, he tells what he knows of Emet-Selch and the Ascians. The Ancients, and how their star was sundered because they had sought to sacrifice the life of their planet to bring back their own people. There's a pause before he speaks that the person who sundered it was Hydaelyn Herself, in opposition to Zodiark. That Hydaelyn had once been an ancient herself.

He doesn't draw the parallels of primals, but anyone with a working knowledge would know to. ]

When the time came for me to play my part, acting as if I would take Summer's aether and leave, I unwittingly revealed myself. And after I had done so, Emet-Selch stopped me.

[ Here he pauses. Emet's reasoning for doing so was his knowledge of time travel - yet he still did not quite believe the reasoning now, knowing all that he did. Emet had had a hand in Allag through Fandaniel, where the bulk of his knowledge came from. It is as if only now he considers that Emet may have intended to die all along. ]

I don't know what I expected but I was still surprised, after all that had happened, when Summer came after me.

Oh, was that the flaw? Not the part about how I couldn't hold it all?

[She hums under her breath, the jab of the comment more directed at herself than at G'raha, as she turns her gaze to Ezar and the way G'raha's fingers work through his hair.]

He didn't just stop Raha. He shot him, in front of me. Then he took him away from me — but not before stopping to tell me what a disappointment I was. How broken I was. And to invite me to join him where he planned to take Raha, if I wanted to complete my transformation into a world-ending monster with dignity.

[So she says, unwittingly revealing the source of something she'd said before.]

...Don't — don't ask me about him. I can't begin to — I wouldn't even know where to start.

[But she does know this: ]

But I went after him. Took him up on his invitation and found myself in a city beneath the sea. It looked a fair bit like Sumarlok, really. It was...beautiful. He'd filled it with ghosts made of aether, all memories of the Ancients who once lived there. And they were kind. One of them recognized me. It was a city called Amaurot and I'll never see its equal again.

But I was there for Emet-Selch, and when I found him, he was surprised I'd come with the Scions. That I hadn't just come to die or transform into some abomination. He asked me why I had, and I told him to give me my Exarch back.

[She smiles, very faintly.]

He ought to have known better than to tell me I couldn't have him.

[ One day, you may, G'raha says. It is almost enough to prod him into reluctantly telling another secret. But things have only just calmed down. He's only just calmed down. He doesn't want to. And it doesn't matter.

So Ezar makes himself smile like he believes G'raha. ]

Mayhap I will.

[ I'll never go home. And once, it hadn't bothered him to think that. He hadn't really had anything waiting for him. But now there is that thread of sadness, that he hopes some day G'raha and Summer will find their way home, and knows it will not be a place he can follow. And if they look for him--if they even are from the same Eorzea as him, a different question entirely--all they'll find is a name on a memorial, if that.

But that is a problem for another day. He'd rather listen to their story than dwell on something so immutable.

This explains, then, the person who had hurt her so terribly--and G'raha as well. Though the conclusion seems to be that she'd already seen him to justice. Though... dead people showed up here all the time; Ezar himself was proof of that. His tail tip flicks a bit harder for a moment and he says, a distinct growl for all its quiet: ]

Ever shows his face around here, he won't live long to regret it.

[ That's really all that needs to be said about that. Though he is glad, to know this grand conclusion. For all that G'raha had emphasized the selfishness in the story when it was the start, it's as fine a romance as he's ever read, and all the better because he knows the people involved and can be happy for them. ]

[ G'raha laughs, a little, when Ezar says he'll regret it - if only because he's aware Emet has come and gone at least once, and may still be present. Alongside, possibly, Gaius Baelsar, a man he personally had trouble forgiving.

Were it not for the Garleans, Corvos would be in a different situation. As would Summer's tribe.

It's also melancholic, to hear her talk of Amarout. To know in the future she also visits Elpis, a research facility he'd heard her call beautiful. To know the people that hurt her before Zodiark had sunk their claws into them.

He's sad, for that. It seeps into the synchrony, but he's careful not to reveal the why.

He speaks again, slowly. Talking of the fact that the scions had not returned home. How G'raha had been told not to sacrifice himself for their sake, and so he sought Beq-Lugg's help in fashioning a way for them to transport across the rift with Summer. How that had attracted the attention of the last Ascian, Elidibus. Zodiark's heart, he explained.

His fingers slow down a bit as he explains fashioning the soul vessel, the way the Scion's souls begun to weaken. And then when Elidibus had taken the vessel he'd fashioned for himself to control the tower, hastening the crystallization of G'raha's body.

His fingers have stopped moving when he speaks of his last moments, after Elidibus's defeat. ]

I do not remember dying. My last thoughts of the First are those preceding sealing my memories and part of my soul into the vessel, after Summer bade me remember her name.

We were not sure my younger self would accept the memories. And I did not wish to erase the young man who had originally sealed the tower away, either, for my older self. Fortune favored our faith that the two of us became one, instead.

[And now, here, they've run up to the edge of her own memories, all of them still fresh and raw enough that she can't help but go quiet before whispering finally: ]

...I remember. I was the last thing you saw. And you told me that hope is everlasting.

[And they've both, in their way, unmade each other's deaths. G'raha by averting a future he couldn't bear to see come to pass. Herself by preserving his soul and finding it a new home.

A flash of sudden, powerful desperation flares through the Synchrony they're sharing, bright and fleeting like a firework. The sudden urge to hold on, to grasp and cling and not let go. The fear of losing something again.

But it's only for a burst of a moment, and once she's got it tamped down again, Summer turns her attention to Ezar.]

There we are, laid bare. The tale of my last adventure. How do you feel now, about our next one?

[Her choice of word, our, is deliberate.]

[ All he can really do, as inadequate though it may be, is curl a bit more firmly around them both. He doesn't like to think of G'raha as dead, and he worries at that flash of emotion, however quickly suppressed, from Summer. And he wishes that it could be something he saves the both of them from, though he knows that, too, is an impossibility.

He smooths one hand over G'raha's leg, his other lightly touching Summer's back. He did not miss that word, our. But he can't help a soft chuckle. ]

Can't imagine it could be anything so world-shaking, aye?

[ Gods forbid. He would be useless. Though that thought, he does not voice. He simply smiles, his head still pillowed in G'raha's lap. Framed as an adventure, our adventure, it doesn't sound frightening at all. ]

The both of you need a break, at the least. And naught like that happening here, at any rate.

No... no, hopefully not so world shaking in a place like this.

[ G'raha laughs softly, a tinge of sadness in his voice but - there is also relief. Relief for the fact that he knows Summer's journey ends on a note that does not end with her alone.

He knows, at journey's end, that they'll be together - and all the Scions with them. After a moment he curls his fingers through Ezar's hair again, raising his hand to curl his hand into Summer's hair as well, and letting loose a small hum. ]

Thank you. For listening to our story. For wanting to take the first steps of a new one as well.

Edited (realized two hours later i forgot a period) 2022-06-29 07:41 (UTC)

That's just it, though. It never starts out as world-shaking, even when it turns out that way. All of it, it's all just...falling dominoes. One thing, then the next, then the next, until all of a sudden you're standing atop a fortress a thousand malms in the sky or amidst a city a thousand beneath the waves, and wondering how you've come so far in the first place.

[A little purr rumbles in the back of her throat when G'raha's fingers card through her hair, now more golden than red, and she basks in it a minute before running her fingers along Ezar's tail, seeking to draw back his attention.]

You said once that Raha and I were special. Important. But we're really not. We're just people that things happened to, living with what came of our choices.

If you come with us, then it'll be the three of us. Making choices. Seeing what comes of them. Moving forward to whatever comes next. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?

[ His tail curls up against Summer's fingers as he considers what she says. It sounds so simple, in a way. But... he breathes out a low hum, a sound of disagreement, if a gentle one. ]

I get why the both of you like to say that. You're both just... people, aye, no disagreement there, for all one of you is the Warrior of Light and the other's got all manner of Allagan bullshit and those are unique matters. What the both of you have dealt with would make anyone feel... small.

But from where I stand... I never would have ended up where you been, aye? I was only at Carteneau or at Ala Mhigo's liberation because I'm a soldier and I go where I'm told and fight those who stand against us. I'm a good soldier, and I do my job well, but I'm nothin' remarkable. I've never borne that sort of burden nor...

[ There's a long hesitation, ...been asked to dying in his throat. Because that's not true. He had been asked to bear one burden, and he'd fled from it like a coward.

That's one choice he's living with, to be certain. ]

...nor would I have the bravery to do so.

So nay, it don't sound bad, when you put it as simple as people makin' choices. But...

[ Another long hesitation as he mulls what he can and cannot say, what is right and honest versus what he wants, and it's such a strange thing for those to be in conflict. His fingers curl into G'raha's shirt again, a gesture of holding on, as if he feels he will be flung away, somehow. ]

...but those ain't the kind of choices someone like me makes, are they.

[ He turns his face into G'raha's leg a little, breathing out a long sigh. It's more talking than he normally likes doing, and far more painful than he can admit to without explanation. The question hangs in his mind, indelible: why him? Why out of anyone in a world apparently lousy with heroes, would they find the biggest coward around and think he could keep up with them?

He wishes he could be that person, for them. ]

You may consider yourself unremarkable - but what you have done still matters.

[ G'raha carefully strokes his fingers over Ezar's ears, careful in how he pets the other man. ]

You made the decision to continue on, after what happened to you. You made the decision to join the Maelstrom - to help in Ala Mhigo. To protect the citizens there when the fighting started.

That mattered. Continuing on past your failures, too, matters. The strength to keep moving and take one more step.

[ He doesn't know what Ardbert said to Summer, but he's unintentionally mirroring it now. ]

That isn't to say that every choice you made has the same weight as some of ours, no. But you also have no way of knowing how those choices affect others.

[ He leans forward a bit, sighing softly. ]

I think you do not want to be brave, but you still cannot help but be. You could have let Summer fall but you jumped after her. You could have left me alone to fend for myself and you did not.

You can say that's what any good person would do - but I have seen so-called "good" men decide otherwise to save themselves.

Edited 2022-06-29 21:55 (UTC)

A fair lot of good being the damned Warrior of Light did me when we were stuck on that island getting dragged off by an ochu.

[She grumbles, more to herself than for anyone else's benefit.

But in the midst of all this reminiscing, Ezar's protests and G'raha's echo of Ardbert leave her thoughts drifting back, of all things, to Elidibus and his machinations on the first. The crowds of people inspired by the promise of becoming Warriors of Light, and how he'd used that faith to make a second primal of himself, emboldened by the good intentions of people who longed to be brave.

And she thinks of saying: did you always want to be a soldier?, and she can't ask it because part of all this is allowing Ezar to not have to own up to demands of what he wants or doesn't want right now. But she wonders, just the same. Ezar a soldier, G'raha an Exarch, herself a savior. It's what they all are, for better or for worse.

It was Aymeric, she thinks idly, who was the first to ever ask her what she wanted to do. Aymeric, forever faithfully serving his city from behind a desk, when in desire alone he would usually be anywhere but.]

I wonder. If you had the chance...

[She says it thoughtfully, almost tentatively, and focuses for a long time on finding the right words before directing the remainder of the thought at both of them.]

If you could do something for yourself, and it was to be only for your own sake, and you were sure to get it or do it or succeed at it. Do you know what you would choose?

[It's a question that can be answered as simply as with a yes or a no — or answered as elaborately as anyone might care to be.]

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