Rosebuds, Slowly Woken
content warnings: general violence, anxiety
Does silence make a noise?
If so, the silence that greeted her upon her first steps into the Coerthas Eastern Lowlands was the most deafening silence Aemilia had ever heard.
The first steps back home. I will see Ala Mhigo free again.
Though a new road from the Shroud had been opened after the Calamity — a meandering, narrow road snaking through the Central Lowlands — merchants and the Grand Companies were still clamouring to reopen the old route through the Eastern Lowlands. For one, it was far more direct for trade caravans from Gridania and moving matériel from Ishgard to the recently opened frontlines with the Empire in Gyr Abania; secondly, the area where the White Raven had raised up Allagan ruins near the Fields of Glory had become a united Grand Company training grounds of sorts. In truth, the Fields were more bloodsport than training, with well-coordinated Grand Company regiments pounding poorly-trained loose rabble into a bloody pulp — regardless, there was plenty of demand for a rebuilt road through the Eastern Lowlands.
The Empire took everything from me. Blood for blood.
Griffin's Crossing recently reopened to foot traffic with the recent cease of active hostilities between Ishgard and dragonkind, so Aemilia thought it would be an interesting diversion instead of going through the Central Lowlands. Aetheryte travel was technically feasible for her, as poorly as she could manipulate aether, but even short trips gave her a migraine and nausea for several hours; longer ones gave her flu-like symptoms for upwards of a week. Unpleasant. Either way, she preferred traveling by foot. However, she wasn't ready for how…lonely she would feel. She missed Sid and Rielle dearly and misliked being alone with her thoughts of late.
With blood and fire, they will pay to the last.
She shook her head and took in the landscape. The Dalamud-imposed aetheric imbalance did not inflict endless winters in the Lowlands, but it did cause the weather to shift dramatically on a whim; depending on the mood, a traveller could find themselves in a severe snowstorm mid-year. Nothing of the sort as of late. There were a dusting of snow coming out from Griffin's Crossing, but after that…green, rocky tundra and scrub pines for malms.
“I’d best get moving to the hostel at Glory,” she said to nobody in particular, trying in vain to fight the silence.
I must walk the path. Innocents yet suffer.
Ser Ompagne's soul crystal weighed heavily in the pouch on her hip as she strode upon the neglected road.
The rest of her hike through the Lowlands was uneventful. She saw but two fellow travellers: a single Elezen merchant along Thordan’s March who exchanged silent acknowledgement with her; and a shady Hyur keeping to themselves at the log cabin hostel. They had sized her up, but after taking in her height and greatsword, decided whatever they wanted with her wasn't worth the trouble and kept to themselves at the fireplace the rest of the night.
The Lowlands themselves were a magnificent sight. The sun reflecting off Clearwater Lake was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever beheld. The ruined aetheryte at Camp Glory and the ruins of Owl's Nest were sobering, but the herds of antelope doe and the birdsongs that greeted her in the new day added a poignant counterbalance. Even the Allagan structures remaining from the White Raven’s calamitous schemes that dotted the landscape had a certain beauty in their soft blue light.
None of this eased her acute anxiety about arriving at the Shroud that evening.
Aemilia wanted act the good daughter and see if her adoptive parents were at their shop, and perhaps stay with them overnight before continuing her journey to Gyr Abania. However, Aemilia hadn't sent so much as a postcard the past four years since leaving home for Limsa Lominsa. She worried something happened to them in the interim, but she was truly anxious they would be upset with her for not writing. Lunette and Victoriste Grenat had saved her from a life that so many Ala Mhigan war refugees experienced; she had a loving roof over her head, taught her maths and letters, and gave her the freedom to forge her own path in life. And now…what would they think of her now? Did walking with the abyss mean that they wouldn't recognize who she had become?
These thoughts and more plagued her as she continued her descent on the road to the Shroud. She hardly noticed the pines becoming more numerous and slowly grading into deciduous forest, nor the land becoming more scarred from Dalamud’s fall eight years past.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she said out loud in an attempt to reassure herself.
You have everything to worry about, her mind responded.
The familiar creak of the wooden bridges above Lake Fallgourd. The palpable midsummer humidity. A cacophony of crickets and frogs singing their songs underneath a starry sky. Aemilia reached her early adulthood home.
When they first adopted her they had lived in Hyrstmill, and the Grenats’ business was outfitting and feeding the Mun-Tuy bean cultivators. After the Calamity, the Grenats resettled in the newly built Fallgourd Float to run a general store for adventurers and caravans. Though they never reached the mercantile heights that they had found before their exile from Ishgard, they were happy and comfortable. And Aemilia appreciated not having to smell the pungent scent of Mun-Tuy beans all the time.
Mind shrouded in memories of her adolescence, Aemilia suddenly found herself in front of her adoptive parents’ store and home. She was frozen in place.
Come on, woman. You've seen the fear in the eyes of men as you stood over them to end their lives. You've treated with dragons. You've heard Rielle's worst barbs. Why can't you knock on this door?
Fighting her body’s indelible urge to stand outside the door all night, she mechanically moved her arm to rap on the door thrice.
“I'm sorry, we're closed for the night!” the sonorous voice of a woman responded.
The words in Aemilia's throat caught. What came out was a croak: “Ma? Da? It's…Aemilia.”
“Aemilia?!”
A quick shuffle of feet, then the sound of the door being unlatched. Her adoptive mother Lunette, a dark-skinned Elezen woman with grey eyes and white hair, stood before her in a smart red tunic and linen breeches. Lines creased her face with age, but she was just as vivacious a woman as Aemilia had ever known.
“My dearest daughter…” she said as she brought her in for a tight hug. “It's been an age. Look how you've grown.”
“I…” Lunette’s hug was a death grip. Aemilia reciprocated with her own lighter embrace. “I’m nearly forty summers, Ma. I'm the same height as when I left.”
“Ach, you know what I mean…look how you carry yourself now.” She released Aemilia from her grip and took her in. Her eyes widened as they fell on the greatsword strapped to her back. “…I see! Looks like we've some catching up to do. But oh, what ill timing…your Da is out on business in Thanalan…looking to secure some new suppliers, you know. Well, come on in. I'll get the kettle going and you can tell me all about your adventures.”
Aemilia, stunned by the way her adoptive mother talked to her like they were picking up a conversation they left off four years ago, crossed the threshold and latched the door behind them.
Both teacups were drained, refilled, and drained again by the time Aemilia concluded her recount of the past four years…
…her odd jobs and adventuring in La Noscea…
…a chance meeting with Hoary Boulder and falling into running errands for the Scions…
…finding Wilred’s body…
…being snuck into Ishgard…
…meeting Sid and Rielle…
…training as a dark knight in Dravania…
…and finally, hearing about Baelsar's Wall on a fated day in Idyllshire and being inexorably pulled back to Ala Mhigo.
Lunette said little, but nodded, laughed, and gasped in all the appropriate places in the tale. When Aemilia concluded, Lunette leaned over the tea table they were seated at and put a hand on Aemilia's and gave a reassuring squeeze.
“My dearest daughter…you've been through so much in such a short amount of time. First off…your Da and I will always love you, no matter how much time has passed. And you'll always have a home here.”
Aemilia felt like she had been hit by a draught chocobo. “Ma, how did…” but couldn't finish her sentence.
Lunette giggled. “I’d like to think I know how my daughter feels about these things. We'd obviously love to get a letter from you every so often but we'd never guilt you into it.” Her gray eyes sparkled with warmth. “And I am not surprised to hear that you've taken up the sword. You've always had a strong sense of justice. I knew one of your order, in another life in Ishgard…but I'll save that story for another day. This night is about you. Besides,” she said with a devious smile, “It'll be incentive for you to get back safely so you can hear it.”
Aemilia could not pull herself out of her adoptive mother's stunlock. “One of my…another…seven hells, Ma.”
Lunette winked. “All that aside…” her look sobered instantly. “I also knew the day would come that you would want to go back to Ala Mhigo. I was hoping you wouldn't be going to fight for it…a vain hope, with Garlemald on our doorstep. Imperial bastards.” She said with sudden anger. “There's only one way to deal with those that think that their race is superior to all others.” She looked intently in her adoptive daughter’s eyes, gripping her hand hard. “Do not bother with words. Fight them, Aemilia. Kill them, if you must. But do your best to be safe so you can enjoy the fruits of you and your comrades’ labour. Please.”
Out of all the ways her overactive, anxious brain had played out this scenario on her hike from Coerthas, Aemilia did not expect this one.
“I…I will do my damnedest to be safe, Ma.” She took her hand from Lunette’s grip, and mother and daughter stood up to tightly embrace.
Lunette sent her daughter off the next morning with one last tearful embrace and a small parcel of her own Shroud tea blends. With a calmed mind and renewed purpose, Aemilia made her way into Gridania to resupply at the Shaded Bower.
Time seemed to have tempered her anger at the city. While she still received the occasional dirty look, the city felt far less stifling than when she was younger. She wasn't sure how much of it was the city changing or change from within herself, but she was grateful for the relaxing afternoon. Travel bag restocked, she treated herself to tea at the Carline Canopy, figuring it was her last chance for a long while to have Miounne’s famous honeycakes. After her small indulgence, she made her way to Westshore Pier to take the ferry to the East Shroud.
The late afternoon sun danced through the canopy of the Shroud as she rode the boat in silence to Sweetbloom Pier. She lost herself in the sounds of the forest; the Zee! Zee! Zoo Zee! of a songbird particularly stood out to her over the low din of insects buzzing and the boat gliding over Whispering Gorge.
She tipped the ferryman as she stepped off the boat, who wordlessly doffed his hat to her as she followed the well-worn path to the Hawthorne Hut. Dusk had begun to fall, so she planned to overnight before making the hour's hike to Baelsar's Wall...she could certainly make it this evening, but she reckoned it would not be a good idea to show up armed and unnanounced in the dead of night.
“Sword at the door, miss,” an aged Hyur man called over as she crossed the threshold. Rolfe Hawthorne sat whittling a figure at the hearth, head raised slightly at Aemilia's entrance. She did as requested. “There you go. Welcome to my home, Miss…?”
“Grenat.”
“Grenat. Make yourself comfortable. Food and lodging is free if you've got a good story from your adventures to share.”
Aemilia’s face broke into a smile for the first time since parting ways with Sid and Rielle. “Oh, I've a few you might like,” she said, placing down her bag and taking the seat next to the Hawthorne patriarch at the fire.
“S-stop. That's close enough.” A private belonging to the Order of the Twin Adder was the only person in sight of the gateway. With a shaky voice, he called out as Aemilia stopped several yalms short of the gate, “State your b-business, adventurer.”
“Aemilia Grenat, a daughter of Ala Mhigo, returning to pledge her sword to the cause of the Resistance!” she called back.
Hells, this lad looks like he's hardly off the farmstead before he traded in his pitchfork for a spear, Aemilia thought bemusingly.
“Resistance…uhhhh…” He looked around wildly. “W-wait here, please.” He disappeared into a door built into the massive metal wall. Several minutes later, he arrived back with a middle-aged Hyur man in an elaborate yellow uniform. He came up to where she was still standing and looked up at her, seemingly unimpressed.
“Serpent Marshall Brookstone,” he said with a nod. “You’re a daughter of Ala Mhigo, I hear?”
“Aye. I'm here to pledge my sword to Ala Mhigo’s liberation.”
“Not the first of you lot to show up here unannounced,” he said with a twinge of annoyance. “But unlike the rest, you look like you can hold your own, I daresay.” His eyes flicked up and down at her full height, and then to her sword, and then back up at her face. “Let's get you looked at by someone with the Resistance. Come with me, but keep your hands where I can see them.”
She was led through the same door the private disappeared into earlier, through the maze-like structure of Castrum Oriens. The scale of it was awe-inspiring. She would have been fascinated if not for what the gargantuan, cold steel structures around her represented.
After what felt like an age within the metal labyrinth, she was led through another door in the sister to the first steel wall she entered. She was guided into a clearing containing colourful tents with the various Grand Company seals emblazoned on them. Soldiers of the Eorzean Alliance flit about in a flurry of activity. She looked up and got lost in the towering golden-leafed trees overhead. Aemilia nearly felt dizzy.
“Wait here, Grenat.” The Serpent Marshall led her to an open tent with rich purple fabric and the Star of Rhalgr emblazoned upon it. She set down her bag and leaned her sword against the back of chair, which she sat in to wait. The chair was slightly too short for her.
Minutes passed. Then a full bell. She closed her eyes to shut out the din…it felt downright overwhelming compared to the relative quiet and solitude of the past days of travel. Eventually, footsteps with a purpose headed towards her. She opened her eyes. A dark skinned miqo'te woman stood before her. Her golden hair was up in a spiky bun. Her copper eyes betrayed a tiny hint of exhaustion, but otherwise they sparkled with vitality. She was…beautiful, frankly. Aemilia pushed down a feeling in her chest.
“Sorry for the wait. Putting out fires all the time nowadays, seems like…metaphorical or otherwise,” she shook her head and offered her hand. “M'naago Rahz, of the Ala Mhigan Resistance. I fear nobody passed your name on to me.”
Aemilia stood to shake her hand…a bit too quickly, because her head hit the top of the tent. Recovering, she shook the miqo'te’s hand in hers. M'naago didn't even come up to her chest, but she had an enormous presence. Aemilia felt towered over.
“Aemilia Grenat, of Ala Mhigo. I'm here to pledge my sword to your cause,” she said once again, albeit much more nervously than the past two times.
“Aemilia, eh? Not a lot of viera ‘round here…I suspect there's a story there. Well, far be it for me to refuse any help. Rhalgr knows we need it,” she said, showing just a shred of weariness for a split second. Quickly composing herself, she looked the viera over. “You look like you could certainly hold your own in a proper scrap. I know which side of a woman your size swinging that big feckin’ sword I would want to be on,” she grinned, showing off tiny fangs. Aemilia needed to push down the feeling in her chest again. “‘T’would be the epitome of foolishness to have you stuck cleaning latrines or on patrol duty…” She looked thoughtful, but quickly came to a decision. “Let's get you sized up by Conrad and Lyse. They're effectively the leaders of our little branch of the Resistance. We'll find something special for you, I know it.”
Aemilia felt an incredible sense of anticipation rush over her. “I uh…thank you. Miss Rahz,” she said, still somewhat intimidated.
“Rhalgr’s beard, you're so formal. Just M'naago will do, thanks.” Her copper eyes twinkled with mirth. “Come on, then. I've got reports to run so I may as well bring you back to our base myself. Oh, and Aemilia?”
“Yes, Mi — M’naago?”
“Welcome home.”
Side-by-side, they walked out from the Alliance’s base of operations onto a path lined by the golden trees of the East End.
Home.
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