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Chapter Text

Gentle creaking graced his ears as the string grew taught, all other noise distant at best as Silvairre took aim, eyes trained on the spot where his previous arrow rested. The interruption of his name cutting through the haze addled his aim, a premature release of his arrow sending it inches away from intended mark and drawing forth an indignant scowl.

"Silvairre?... Silvairre!".

At the Guildmaster's insistence, he allowed a muted sigh to escape through his nose and turned to face her, resting his bow in one of the many holders available once she beckoned him with a wave, and closing the distance between them. The nervous smile on her face spoke of untold unpleasantness, and as she gestured to the short pink stranger in their midst, his brows drew together questioningly. Dear Twelve, not another recruit.

"I would've tasked Leih with this particular request, but she's busy coaching our newest." Luciane began, either ignorant to the scowl on her subordinate's face or simply choosing to ignore it, "Nhio here has a small order to fill for the Botanist's guild, and requires an escort to accompany her. She's scant been here long enough to traverse the woods on her own, even if your favorite student is already well acquainted- At least he's capable of protecting himself.".

Any opportunity to be reminded of the guild's greatest eyesore and tease him was worthwhile, it seemed.

"While I agree it would've been best to send her with her own kind, I must ask- Since when do the Botanists require our coddling? If she is capable of surviving the perils of travel, then surely the marmots will not trouble her.".

"Not that it matters to your assignment, but she arrived via airship alongside our latest pupil." She knew he was smart enough to infer this was her way of admitting the girl to be fragile. Whether he was smart enough to swallow his pride and behave was another thing altogether.

Of course. Not only had Luciane's latest "Prodigy" Continued to sully their Guildhall with his frequent intrusions, he'd brought with him yet another mouth for the Elezen people to feed and shelter. Silvairre leered down at the small Miqo'te his senior had introduced with a little too much gusto for his tastes, hard eyes unapologetic of the tone to follow. 

"You ask that I babysit an outsider, Luciane." More statement than question, ever careful to toe the line between irreverence and disobedience. 

"I'm telling you to guard her while she works.".

Ah, there would be no more room for argument it seemed. Continuing to stare disdainfully at the woman he was tasked to tail, he noted internally that she seemed equally pleased with this decision as he did, head hung and eyes pointed firmly towards his shoes as skinny fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of her wicker basket. At the very least he could be content in knowing she gained no pleasure from this arrangement. Finally relenting, the Elezen retrieves his bow without a word, returning to stand before his charge and utter a disinterested;

"Lead the way.".

Watching the awkward departure with no more than a quiet wave, Luciane silently begged the Elementals allow a quick harvest, aware her guest's Grandmother would be displeased by the manner of chaperone she'd appointed. Best if the pair returned before said guardian came to collect.

Treespeak could hardly be considered 'Deep within the Twelveswood', and a hard scowl settled on Silvairre's face as the pair traversed the Yellow Serpent Gate at a child's pace, his ward's walking speed near infuriating with the way she seemed to toddle along. Every little noise or yell warranted a glance, ears swiveling in search of the source, flinch hardly noticeable under the giant sweater she'd ensconced herself under, tail hidden away within long skirts that caressed the foliage underfoot. Hardly appropriate garb for manual labor, but far be it from him to suggest she change and waste more of his time. Tension slowly left her as the sound of civilization faded, and yet it never fully dissolved, the Miqo'te's nervous glances towards him deepening the crease upon his brow. Perhaps if he gifted her a glimpse of his thoughts on her ungrateful use of his precious time, she'd have the sense to run on ahead and allow his longer legs the mercy of a full stride.

For a moment he thought she'd do just that, pausing in her step with ears lifted, eyes scanning the trees around them. Her nose twitched, and it wasn't until she continued off in a slightly different direction that he realized she was seeking out the scent of her quarry. How typical of the little beast, so quick to rely on primitive behaviors rather than applying the good and earnest teachings of Gridania's prized Botanist's guild, if she'd the mind to learn anything from them in the first place. At least with her attention occupied, Nahli- Was that her name? It hardly mattered- Eased her paranoid glancing, though it never quite ceased. If they stumbled upon a decaying animal instead of whatever greenery she was supposed to be harvesting, it would simply serve as yet another example of her kind's repugnance.

Blessed be Nymeia, the search is a short one. With slightly hurried steps that her chaperone wishes she'd employed sooner, the woman who's name he's genuinely forgotten approaches one tree in particular, nose twitching like a woodland creatures' as she sets down her basket and slowly brings a hand up to feel the bark. Seemingly satisfied, she retrieves a small bark scraper from among her belongings, setting it upon the wood once she's brushed loose debris away with a soft brush of her hand. The sweet smell of cinnamon permeates the air around them as the outer layer is scraped away carefully, a noticeable tremor present in the hand that grips dirtied implement after a menial amount of work.

Professional that he is, Silvairre takes hold of his bow, an arrow held ready and notched with his other hand as he thoroughly scans the perimeter around them. There's nothing to be found of course, but he would have no word of shafted duties reaching the ears of his peers, treating the task itself as he would any other bestowed upon him by the guild. Nhio's eyes land on him once more at the light clink of wood on wood, dull blue lingering apprehensively on his hands for several breaths before returning to the harvest before her, hair shifting enough at the motion to reveal scar's edge upon her cheek.

"Our Guildmaster placed your safety in my hands, I've no reason to harm you.".

It was the first thing either of them had said since departing the guildhall, startlingly loud in contrast to prior silence and yet he could hold his tongue no longer. To be hired as guard for such a harmless stroll was insult enough, but to be regarded with such fear and apprehension every painfully slow step of the way had begun gnawing away at his patience. Why ask for protection if you intend to spit in the face of the guild's finest? His eyes remained ever trained on the brush around them, but he did not miss the way she jumped as he spoke, nor the way her tremble grew as she swapped tools and began slicing an outline along the exposed inner bark.

Nothing to say for herself? Of course not. He should have expected as much.

The gentle glide of knife on wood was the only sound left between them for the rest of Nhio's task, her piece of bark a falm long and half as wide slowly separating from the wood beneath with a little coaxing and plenty of patience. To a man fully frustrated, the soft sound was more akin to sharp nails being raked across a chalk board. Allowing the strip to curl in on itself lengthwise, she's careful not to break already cracking spice as she rolls it further into a neater coil while still moist and slices it in half, each piece tied in twine and nestled snugly within her basket. Enough cinnamon to fuel a small bakery for a few days, Silvairre judges on a whim.

Either uncertain of how or unwilling to communicate her readiness to leave, the quivering mess of pink simply takes a tentative step towards him with basket in-hand once more, eyes once again trained to his feet and lower lip held between her teeth as if to assist in her composure. Sharp as ever (And more than eager to leave), her guard is quick to act in response, re-fastening his bow and returning unspent arrow to its brethren as he begins the stunted trek back, acting as guide this time for one who isn't yet familiar with the Twelveswood's twists and turns.

It's equally as uneventful and frightfully slow as the start of their excursion.

To gaze upon an elderly Miqo'te and correctly assess their age, one must look at the eyes, at the posture, at their sureness of self- The kind that only comes from a life long lived. Madam Nelbah wore her years on her sleeve in a manner of speaking, gazing up at the taller Elezen woman as if she herself had the height advantage, arms folded neatly behind her back as she offered Luciane a gentle smile in greeting. A smile that set into a tight, thin line at the sight of Leih practicing her technique, neither hair nor whisker of her granddaughter in sight.

"I thought you said the Aliapoh girl would fit best...".

"Ah- Good afternoon to you too, Madam. I did intend to give Leih the task," The Guildmaster admitted, casting her eyes to the door in hope of convenient timing, "It was just... Bad timing, I suppose. Rest assured though, I have full faith in her replacement." A lie of omission, she trusted Silvairre to do his job- She didn't trust him to be gentle.

Gods be good, her prayers are received, Silvairre's stoic visage entering her line of sight as both he and his charge returned unharmed to the Quiver's Hold. Madam Nelba's smile returns, quickly approaching her kin in order to tidy her jumper's turtleneck. Eyes quickly scanning Nhio's form for signs of harm and finding none, she turns them on the man charged with her safety, and he stares back with a quizzical frown as she scrutinizes him.

"Was he good to you?" She asks quietly, watching the way tension builds in his jaw, frustration palpable.

Frustrated as he is indeed at having his integrity questioned once more despite doing aught to provoke it, curiosity compels him to glance the young woman's way in wait of her answer. Intuition promises him he will be accused of snapping at her impudence.

Instead Nhio nods once, twice, and whispers a hushed "He said he wouldn't harm me...".

Satisfied that he'd done a proper job, the elder Miqo'te spares Silvairre from her gaze, reaching for the basket-full of cinnamon clutched in tired fingers and holding it in the crook of her elbow, picking a stray leaf from Nhio's hair despite the way her own kin flinched at such direct contact. Alright, that was their cue to get a move on, unceremoniously ushering younger relative towards the exit with merely a grateful nod towards Luciane.

"Pray you never assign me such a job again, please." Silvairre requested on the heels of an exhausted sigh, removing his hat to run tense fingers through dark strands.

His Guildmaster, however, lets out a soft laugh at the sight of him, and perhaps also out of relief that things went smoother than she'd dared to hope. "Come now, was it truly so bad? A peaceful afternoon spent with little worry besides particularly feisty ladybugs?".

Silvairre huffed in indignation at the question, raising his hand as if to point but allowing it to hover in front of his lips as he thought of his answer.

"Utterly dreadful.".

With a shake of his head, he took hold of his bow once more and approached the range, opting to ignore the thoughtful hum of his superior as she surely imprinted falsehoods onto his words.

Chapter Text

On the sixth sun of the week, every week, for the past three weeks. Thusly has Silvairre been tormented by the same repetitive and slow march into the surrounding woods, charged with the safety of a woman inexplicably startled by the slightest incident. Leih had japed that it was intended to "educate" him, forcing him to fraternize with the savages he openly disdained, while Luciane insisted it was simply because she trusted him to perform the task well. He was inclined to believe the former.

Twas on their third excursion that she first directed any words towards him, a quiet "Thank you" offered as he lowered a branch of tinolqa mistletoe an ilm too tall for her to harvest from. He'd cleared his throat and offered the requisite "You're welcome", though momentary closeness allowed him to see that the act bid her fur to bristle. He had half a mind to simply withhold aid unless explicitly requested, and yet, the following week he'd repeated the gesture without thought as she stretched on unsteady legs in an attempt to reach. Pleasantries were exchanged once more, though this time he made no such personal promises.

After paying it a modicum of thought, he decided it was merely the correct course of action given his duty to her. Would it do to simply watch her struggle, risking the shed of blood from a preventable fall? Nay, he was tasked with keeping her safe. That is where this kindness began, and where it ended. Never again would he allow himself to feel for a lesser species, prone as they are to abusing such gestures.

Mercifully enough, she grew more resilient in the interim, the pace of their travels hastening from a crawl to a slow stroll. The woman he'd learned to be her grandmother requested he not allow her to over exert herself, and though he'd acquiesced? He'd hardly the need to enforce it, Nhio herself seemingly well aware that fatigue made for poor craftsmanship, and the Twelveswood would not take kindly to a hap hazard harvest.

Knowledge that she'd relatives native to Gridania had taken him by surprise, and given the weakened state she clearly struggled with, he'd come to the conclusion she must have moved to a warmer climate as a child for the betterment of her health- Limsa Lominsa presumably, given that adventurer's part in escorting her out of convenience- Or at least, so he'd heard from the man's boisterous chatter with the other savage. No matter, these were all trivial things that busied his mind as he performed most boring and repetitive task, nothing but wandering curiosities and overheard gossip.

Gridania herself was far from cold at this time of year. Yet no matter the weather, not once did he see his ward dressed in less than an overabundance of warmth, even on days where his own woolen tunic held too much heat, and he made a point of warning Luciane that he would not be held responsible for the fool keeling over should she take it too far. For her part, the Guildmaster has simply told him not to worry about it, prompting him to correct that he wasn't worried, he simply took note of the possibility and wished to wipe his hands of blame. 

Now here he stood on another sixth sun wasted, arms folded across his chest as the little Miss stepped into their precious guildhall. Alone for once, the Matriarch that often tailed her absent from her usual post at Nhio's side. He huffed in silent amusement at the bitter thought that maybe she could 'grow up' enough to travel the woods on her own, too. Today would not be that day, as much as it pained him, though it brought another first of it's own as she placed herself in front of him and endeavored to speak.

"U-Umm, Silvairre?".

He squinted at the break from month long routine, unsurprised by the way she refused to look at him as she spoke but annoyed at such disrespect all the same.

"Yes, Miss?".

"Do you know where South is?" She asked, fumbling over her words, "S-South shroud- It's- Quarrymill? F-for pears?" Losing her nerve by the moment, it seemed.

"I do not know where your pears are, but I am familiar with Quarrymill, yes." Wonderful, an even longer day lay ahead of him. "Anything else?" He meant it as voiced sarcasm, but to his dismay she simply nodded.

"Do you know where umm, " She frowned in thought, a little distressed at her inability to recall the details, "W-where... Truthers?" It's an attempt, at least.

"Truthers..." He quirked a brow, moving a hand to his hip and tapping his cheek with the index of his other, "Buscarron's Druthers?" Genuinely, if she said no then he'd not the slightest idea where she wanted to go.

Nhio's ears shot up at the suggestion, and she met his gaze for the briefest second with a little 'Ah!' of recognition, eyes quickly dipped down again as she gave a nod. A short burst of animation that he could've blinked to miss.

"I have to take something there, is- is that okay?".

"The destination is your choice, I'm merely the chaperone. Though if I may suggest, it would be most efficient for us to treat the journey as a circuit, approaching buscarron's via the Central shroud, passing through Quarrymill and returning via Sweetbloom Pier in the East. Is that well with you?"

It was clear he'd lost her with the explanation, but she nodded consent regardless. Just as well, if she'd protested or demanded a less direct route, he may have simply dumped the job on Aliapoh, scolding be damned.

Retirement often implies one stops working, growing old and gray in whatever hole they've carved out for themselves, enjoying the peace and quiet of nature- Or something like that. Buscarron much preferred his bar and the company it brought, a little slice of peace out in the middle of nowhere, or close enough. Most who came through his doors knew the rules, and those who didn't learned fast or lost a few teeth, simple as that. Idle musings were brought to a halt as said doors swung open, index finger pausing above the counter mid-tap where his palm rested.

"Silvairre right? Who's your friend? Grab a pew and do us the honor of an introduction, aye?" He welcomed, familiar grin on his rugged face as he reached for a pair of empty mugs, "What'll it be?".

"She is my client, and apologies but we are not here for a drink." Came expectedly strained reply, the older man rolling his eyes, "We are merely here for a delivery.".

The pink haired Miqo'te approached his counter alongside her Elezen guard, refusing to look him in the eye or speak a greeting. Instead she simply placed her basket upon an empty stool and bent to rummage for something. She tilted her head for a better view of the basket's contents, revealing the distinctive shape scarring her right cheek and giving him cause to frown as he eyed it. Smile slipping back into place as desired item was retrieved, he partook in the silent exchange with a nod and a flash of teeth.

"Thanks Miss, been waitin' on this cinnamon for a week or two now. Never enough hands ta harvest, huh?" He joked, unwrapping the little bundle of cloth ensconcing his order and placing it in its very empty jar, "Hey speakin' of which, mind doin' old Buscarron a favor? Need a fresh bucket of water for this sink of dishes, think you could fetch one forus? River's just down past the chocobo stables out back, plenty of buckets there ta pick from- Just don't grab any with names on'em, or chocobo filth in'em".

Surprising a request as it was, the little cat wasn't in the habit of saying 'no', nervously shuffling towards the door after a single nod. Silvairre clicked his tongue and moved to follow, only to pause in his step as the proprietor gestured for him to stay. He gave an indignant half-shrug as if to ask what was wanted of him, tired of being used as a glorified errand boy.

"That scar on'er cheek, y'know what it is?".

"A ceremonial mark of some sort? I can't claim to study the myriad lesser cultures in our midst, so I do not know nor care for its meaning.".

"That there's a slaves brand, lad." Came quiet correction, index finger tapping on the counter once more as he mulled over the design, comparing it with the memory of ones he'd laid eyes on.

"Pardon?". As far as jokes went, this was in extremely poor taste.

"Them big ears'a yours just fer show? It's the kinda brand they use ta mark folks that're sellin' themselves inta slavery ta pay off debts, if'n case they get the bright idea ta run. Real common over in Thanalan, that sellin' part I mean. Usually it ain't permanent, hell some folks sell their children off for a few years ta work off an old debt an' worry bout one less mouth ta feed. I ain't a fan of it personally, but it does happen...".

Silent with his thoughts for a moment, Silvairre began to piece together a more complete picture of the woman he'd been guarding, of her mannerisms and the things she feared, of her sudden "return" to Gridanian soil despite seeming a stranger to it. Such things were unacceptable here, his people were the pinnacle of refined culture and civilization, they'd long since moved past the need of anything akin to slavery. And yet, the fact remained that this was simply the most obvious answer, Madam Nelbah was no relative, she must've had the younger Miqo'te imported as a personal servant. Someone to ease lesser burdens in her later years.

"You've... Seen it before, then? That mark?" He needed to clarify. Rumors held little weight.

"Mmh, not exactly- But it's real similar ta the ones I have seen. There's a common style for this sorta thing, y'know?".

The doors creak interrupted their hushed discussion as the subject herself returned, almost waddling as she hefted the bucket in, having apparently picked one without a handle. Silvairre blinked back the torrent of thoughts Buscarron unleashed and stepped over to take the burden from her arms, shooting the older man an annoyed look as he nervously scratched the back of his head.

"Sorry lass, didn't know there wouldn't be none'a the ones with proper handles for ya..." He lamented, shepishly accepting the bucket from an unimpressed Silvairre and setting it aside, "Say, I never did catch yer name- This old sack'a bones is called Buscarron".

"N-Nina" Was all she seemed willing to say, palpably uncomfortable with being asked to speak.

"Well it's a pleasure ta meet ya, drop on by any time, y'hear? Though, I'm guessin' ya got plants ta pick or somethin', what with comin' out all this way".

"Yes, we are bound for Quarrymill and should endeavor not to waste any more time." Interjected Silvairre, noting how the name she gave was not the one he'd been told. A nod from her encouraged his lead, and with a final "Till next time, then." The Elezen led her out and onward, with much to think about and plenty of time to do so.

Buscarron let out a tense breath as they departed, running a hand down his face and muttering a soft "Twelve preserve..." Under his breath. Never stayed peaceful round here for long, did it.

Chapter Text

Assumptions have a funny way of clouding ones judgement, ever eager to find whatever piece of information fits in with the image they've puzzled together and quick to disregard the rest. Silvairre was aware of this, he was trained to work against such things in order to see the bigger picture and outmaneuver the enemy, but even he couldn't help the way his mind latched onto every ill fitting lie spoken by those around him. Blast it, to call them lies already meant he was too deep, allowing time to pass without acting when a grave insult to his nation could be happening before his very eyes. He needed confirmation, a way to either disprove Buscarrons outlandish claim or- No, that was the preferable option, that the man simply mistook one thing for another.

Issue's subject itself, he'd mentally danced around. Yes he knew such atrocities took place. No, he did not need or desire to dwell on them, especially when he had no personal stakes in the affairs of neighboring lands. Nhio, however, was not in some far off land or hidden away where he could pretend her plight didn't exist, and though he told himself her wellbeing was of little matter to him beyond ordered duty, part of him argued otherwise. To this part, the Elezen argued in return, insisting to himself that what he truly worried for was Gridanias integrity, that if one person could simply import another for slave labor and get away with it unhindered, how many other violations of his peoples' law were committed away from prying eyes?

Yes, that is what worried him. That is what he needed to see to, the safety of Gridania and her citizens.

So distracted was he, that the return of his dearest pupil didn't quite register until the Hyur tilted his head and entered his field of view, waving a hand to test if anyone was home. For the first time in two moons, he'd spent the sixth sun doing something other than escorting his usual charge into the surrounding woods, tasked instead with overseeing this wayward adventurer's training in their ancestral art. Better him to teach than the Miqo'te, but the cur was hardly worth instruction in the first place.

Speak of the devil, Leih stormed her way into his personal space with about as much grace as a pile of rocks, yowling and accusing him of intending to kill the man rather than teach. Gods, perhaps he really should have refused, and looking to Luciane as he opened his mouth to defend himself, the look upon her face told him she'd no intention of letting the matter end before it could start.

Exhausted by the endless prattling arguments his junior insisted he be dragged into, Silvairre had chosen to make his exit from the guildhall at first available chance, stating he would perform a basic patrol of the Eastern shroud and ensure there weren't "More outsiders seeking to soil us". A petty jab, but he would not be caught admitting to such in front of her ilk.

Being of the Wildwood Elezen, it never surprised him to feel at home amongst the lesser worn paths, an advantage he took pride in when following chosen route in search of Garlean activity or poachers. The sounds were familiar and the air smelled of home, lower hanging branches brushing against broad shoulders as if they were passing siblings offering playful banter. He welcomed it. One can never complain about solace if "Home" Is the nation herself, even the Hyur born and raised amongst his kind contributed to her strength and respected her ways. In a sense, Gridania filled the shoes of a Mother, and her children were bound as family through preservation of history and tradition.

Laughter alerted him to the presence of another, too carefree to be an invader within their lands, but experience had taught him to approach uncertainty with caution, first and foremost. Careful steps avoided noisier roughage, body hidden behind trunks and brushes as he approached the source with fluid, slow movement. A pair of Wood Wailers came into view near a steep decline of the forest floor. Before he could call for their attention and make his presence known in passing, the taller of the two spoke.

"Good Gods, it really is her," The brunette leaned forwards, apparently reaching for something as his partner watched on in amusement, "See? I told you. A curve and three curls, sandstorm".

"Looks more like chocobo scratch to me-" Interjected the second, "But that's besides the point. Not every day you find a stray near your post".

With the nearest one bent, Silvairre was able to see the recipient of their attention, breath caught in his chest as he laid eyes on a familiar face, trapped between her assailants and the slope behind her. The Wailer held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, other hand fisting hair near her scalp to hold it out of the way and reveal her brand. Eyes blown wide in terror, Nhio stared up at him like a frozen doe, unable to do more than cling to her filled basket and shiver with ears folded flat. The Elezen responsible laughed again, lighthearted disbelief, as if his luck had just turned for the better.

"Nina, sweetheart! It's been what, Two? Three years? Gotta say, I was pretty heartbroken when I heard Toffmhas sold you off... If I'd known he was looking to sell, I might've put in an offer myself!" Watching from the shadows while still as a statue, Silvairre repressed the urge to be sick. "Say, I don't see a hatchet on you, or a scythe for that matter... You sure you're allowed to be out plundering Gridanian resources like this?".

"Poaching's a pretty hefty crime, girlie... And we don't go easy on outsiders- Especially pretty little things that look up at you with big, glossy eyes when they're scared".

"That's quite enough".

Finally regaining his wits enough to intervene, Silvairre drew attention to himself, bowstring taut and arrow aimed squarely at the instigators' back. Both men regarded him with a look of annoyance, though the fear in their eyes didn't go unnoticed. The Wailer who's hands weren't occupied where they didn't belong reached for his lance, doing his best to appear calm at the prospect of being busted by one of their own countrymen.

"We're just interrogating the girl, move along archer." He warned, eyes darting between his friend and their unexpected guest.

"Unless... You want in?" Asked the first, raising a brow at Silvairre over his shoulder as he tugged on Nhios hair to rattle her back and forth a little, eliciting a terrified whimper. "She's a tight fit, nice and flexible too. If you manage to hilt her she'll cry sweet little sobs each time you-".

"Cease speaking filth and unhand her." Spat Silvairre, aware by their change in expression that his disgust made full manifest across his face, "We will be reporting this to your superiors.".

Wait. "We"?

Taking a cursory glance at the foliage surrounding them, it finally occurs to both lancers that if they failed to spot one archer, who's to say there weren't others tucked away with bows at the ready? Sucking his teeth in annoyance, the man holding his prey in place begrudgingly releases her with a shove, sending her stumbling back a falm before her knees buckle.

"Selfish pricks." He hisses, nodding to his equally disappointed partner as he heads for of one of the many worn paths. The second follows in kind, refusing to look Silvairre in the eyes as they pass.

Finally lowering his bow once he's sure the pair are out of sight, he takes a deep breath in through his nose and allows himself to shut his eyes on the exhale. Focus, remain calm. Predict the best course of action. Returning the weapon to its holster, the Elezen sets his eyes on the kneeling Miqo'te, approaching with slow strides as if to appease a frightened animal. Terror plain on her face, she maintains extended eye contact with him for the first time, tears fat on her cheeks as she attempts to shy away.

Clumsy and frightened, she falls on her rump a little too close to the edge, old leaves and twigs giving way as she tumbles to the bottom with a yelp. The sudden rush of movement and the sting of woodland refuse seem to finally snap something within her, skittering off into the brush once her feet touch the ground, moving faster than Silvairre thought her capable of.

To the void and back with this.

He doesn't run, she's given him no need and left him easy signs to track, but follow he does. It's not until he shifts her basket from one hand to the other that he realizes he picked it up, quickly quashing any potential introspection that might provide in favor of glancing skyward. The canopy is thick, but enough of the sky is visible for him to assess the time, and prospective weather. Besides the sky, his nose picks up on the ozone of oncoming rain, prompting him to pick up the pace or risk losing his charge to a storm.

Success blesses him as the sky glowed orange, Nhio's form kneeling amongst large, twisting roots as the trees grew larger, older. Still panting from her bout of exertion, she could no longer cry as quietly as she'd like, desperate sobs shaking her with each exhale as she fought for breath. The sound of Silvairre's approach perked her ears, and the crushing look of despair she wears when facing him gives the Elezen pause.

"Are you truly so terrified of me? Enough to believe I would harm you?"

Her expression shifts in a way he can't quite read, or perhaps it's the look of myriad emotions all wrestling for control. He sighs, and resumes his approach without waiting for a reply. Rains first sprinkling reaches them both before he can close the distance, and cursing quietly under his breath he hurries his last few steps, stooping to her eye level to explain their predicament.

"Listen. I understand you're frightened, but the evening is upon us, and the weather has turned. My own clothes are hardened against exposure in case of such changes, but yours are not, and unless we find some form of shelter to wait out the rain? Hypothermia is likely, at least for you." Begrudgingly, he extends his basketless arm out for her to take. Equally as begrudgingly, she laces shaking fingers into the fabric of his undershirt, allowing him to help her up. Whether it's genuine trust or long learned obedience, he can't quite tell.

As always, nature may take but equally does she provide, Silvairre's search for temporary shelter successful upon discovery of an old tree, the roots elevated and base split, allowing respite from what's quickly turning into a violent downpour. Several smaller critters have already taken refuge, apprehensive of their newest company as the Elezen ushers his charge inside and follows suit, but ultimately braving their presence in favor of avoiding the cold.

Cold, which the shivering Miqo'te carries with her in the form of her soaked jumper and skirt, nose buried against knees hugged close in a fruitless endeavor to fight it, while the light coating of wax present along the outside of Silvairre's tunic, pants, and the exposed sections of his undershirt leave him dry in comparison. He allows himself a moment to bury his face in his hands and groan at the state of things. Gods give him strength, this day may be his undoing.

"Please trust that I mean nothing scandalous, but I must insist you change. Your outer layers are soaked, water will only sap you of strength and warmth if you continue to wear them." Refusing to face whatever expression she wore at his request, he instead busied himself with unbuckling the leathers overtop his tunic, setting them aside in order to remove the mostly dry garment and offer it out to her, face turned the other way. "I shall share for now, and I shan't look as you dress." Uncomfortable enough was this ordeal to bring an embarrassed flush to his face, pointed ears pink as he did his best to repress the past hour of his life and set it aside for later. Much later.

Shifting fabric and rains furious pattering fills the silence between them, a wet plop preceding the gentle tug of Nhio accepting the offered tunic. A hand entered his field of view as she reached for the basket he'd set by the entrance, and as his eyes caught the scarring around her wrist, he finally caved to burning curiosity.

"... Did you know him? The Wood Wailer who hurt you." A poor way to broach the topic. Internally, he kicked himself.

Pausing part-way through placing soaked clothes beside freshly picked fairy apples, she remained silent for a long moment, perhaps weighing her own willingness to trust him. Finishing her task, the basket is pushed back to prior position, and she resumes her curled posture. The silence bids him to glance her way, staring unintentionally once he's granted his first proper look at what hid below layers of wool and cotton. Wrists, ankles and neck, all similarly scarred and discolored, skin still healing from long-term aggravation.

"M-my old home, he... Visited lots." She finally offers, tired and afraid.

"Your old home?" She merely nods. "And where was that?".

It was her turn to glance his way in apprehension, assessing whether he intended to take her back now that the one who'd bought her had lost his freedom. Expression finally softening, Silvairre offered her his best attempt at a curt smile, more akin to pressing his lips into a thin line and nodding- But an attempt none the less.

"You need not tell me if you do not wish to.".

Another beat of silence passed between them, and it was her turn to offer the unexpected, the Miqo'te sliding herself closer and slowly laying across his legs. Too stunned to do anything but stare, he sat still with hands raised in avoidance of bare skin, wrestling for the words to express his utter confusion. Tilting her head to timidly check for his expression, she was met with a stone faced lack of understanding.

"M-Maste-" She stopped. Don't call him that anymore. "M-my umm- he- he'd tell me to lay on his l-legs like this sometimes, when it- when nights were cold, or it was storming at sea. To keep him warm...".

"I... See." Was all he could manage to say in response, not particularly pleased with this development, but too tired to pick it apart or argue against it. He leaned his head back against the aged bark, speaking again before he could stop himself.

"Thank you, then. If that is the intent of your gesture." Grimacing at the way words spilled from his lips, he slowly lowered his arms, his left coming to rest against her side and feeling her instinctual tensing at foreign touch before slowly, willingly relaxing once more. 

"Thank you, for- for lots of things" She eventually answers, audibly nervous as ever, but placing far more trust in him than was likely afforded to anyone else.

Adrenaline leaving her at last, Nhio- Or was it Nina after all?- drifted into an uneasy slumber atop Silvairre's lap, uncomfortably intimate and yet entirely innocent. Remaining awake with his thoughts, the odd whimper or whine of troubled dreams assailed his ears, and he resolved to remain alert until conditions improved enough for them to venture towards more reliable shelter, preferably home. 'Twas his responsibility, after all, to ensure her safe return.

Chapter Text

Rain always spelled one of two occurrences for the Druthers- Either the establishment packed in tight like a ladies' guts in a bodice, or emptier than a beggars coin-purse. With the former in full effect, Buscarrons establishment hummed with activity, a myriad of drunken conversations bouncing off the wooden walls as Wailers and ne'er-do-wells alike waited out the worst of weathers sudden change.

Hailed for a refill, he approached the two uniformed lancers with pitcher in-hand, collecting coin from the table as they drank deep.

"Fuckin' archers" One of them complained, licking wetness from his upper lip, "S'fine though, we'll get another shot at'er".

Their host paused as he counted, continuing to move his finger as if he wasn't eavesdropping. Drunken fools talking nonsense was nothing new, but sometimes? Sometimes, drink loosened lips revealed things no sober person would so loudly admit to.

"Pff, if there's anythin' left" Slurred his companion with a grumble, "Half a guild'll ruin the lass".

"Nah they're a buncha tightasses, too proud to have a- Hic- a bit of fun. Doubt it was more than a couple of'em".

"So what, we park up near an apple tree 'nd hope she skips on over? Catch'er heading out of town 'nd tail'er?"

With ears trained in on their conversation, Buscarron busied himself with menial nonsense behind the counter. Deep in their cups as they were, they paid the old sentry no mind and continued sharing their thoughts out loud, sure their noise would be drowned by the rest of the crowd as they made crude jokes about pulling tails and sowing seeds. Of course he'd heard the rumors, everyone 'round these parts knew. And while he might no longer be a Wood Wailer himself, he hadn't put his heart and soul into the job before the calamity just so brats like these could put on a uniform and run around the Twelveswood assaulting women when no one was looking.

Glancing around at the options on-hand, he beckoned over a couple of his longest serving patrons with a purposeful look and curt nod, making a show of serving them another round, leaning in close as he poured to utter impromptu request.

"We got a couple predators over there warblin' about some girl they tried ta force, an' how they're gonna catch'er next time. Make sure the storm takes'em and I'll waive yer tab." He stated in a hush.

The small group followed his gaze to the Wood Wailers in question, and after sizing them up for a moment, shared a few words between each other before the leader of their little party held muscular arm out over the counter for a shake.

"You got it pal, we'll make sure the forest claims'em".

A bell came and went, taking with it a good portion of the nights patronage as drunken sods stumbled outside, too drunk to care about the rain as they teetered their way home, or simply passing out where they sat within the once bustling establishment. Among those braving the weather in search of their beds were the pair of abhorrent Wailers, followed shortly after by the small group of men tasked with disposing of them. Slipping into a waxed overcoat, Buscarron himself headed for the door, lantern in one hand and umbrella snagged off its hook with the other in passing. Apples only really grow in the east shroud, and he'd feel like a right arse knowing there might be an injured lady out there in the rain, if he didn't at least try to look for her.

Awake despite the darkness attempting to convince him otherwise, Silvairre had only the storms howl and his own thoughts to keep him company, charge still spread across his lap, asleep. It'd been a considerably long time since the Elezen experienced any form of intimacy, and half as long since he'd taught himself not to yearn for it anymore. Strange, then, how nice the warmth of his gloved palm against her side felt, how grounding the weight across his legs. Comforting, and yet discomforting all the same at the thought of enjoying such from a savage, let alone one so thoroughly stripped of her humanity.

Said savage whimpered in her sleep, louder than the occasional whine she'd let out thus far. A tremble not of the cold took her,  sleep-slurred pleas falling on deaf ears as dreamed threats refused to concede. Silvairre glanced down despite the dark robbing him of- Or perhaps, saving him from whatever sight lay across tense legs, uncomfortable with his involuntary involvement in what was most certainly a private matter. A very private, very delicate matter. The thought of Gridanias sworn protectors so shamelessly partaking in acts as vile as these, finding any excuse they could string together in order to so cruelly abuse an innocent... It soured him inside, made him glad for the lack of an evening meal lest it forcefully be expunged at images unwillingly conjured.

Did his own disdain for her kind, for Leih's kind... Did it perhaps make others feel such a way about him, too?

He'd watched the dark haired little feral grow from a displaced victim of the calamity, into- into... Admission of how he truly felt lay at the tip of his tongue, tantalizing him with another taste of interpersonal closeness, with a chance to connect over a common passion, and yet memory of what happened the last time he'd extended his sympathies to one of the moons cunning daughters kept it at bay. No, it wouldn't do to form such attachments with outsiders, lest they continue to tarnish everything his countrymen worked for and prove him a traitor twice.

Flickering torchlight caught his attention, sparse at first as it bounced through rapid falling rain, and had it not grown brighter at sources approach he would've considered it a trick of the mind and his tired eyes. It swept the area slowly, held by a bulky figure under-cover of an umbrella, approaching from roughly the same direction Silvairre recalled taking during their frantic search for shelter. With a squint, he did his best to adjust to the little light provided, recognizing the shine of light on leather across the strangers face. An eye-patch? Buscarron?

Warmth shifted upon his lap as the light came to a stop, and he realized his query had been made out-loud.

"Seven hells, Lad! I'm glad to see yer both alright, but ya picked a rotten evenin' fer a midnight stroll!".

"We didn't-".

"I'm just pullin' yer leg. Heard there was a bit o' trouble with some outta line Wailers, so, came out to check they hadn't gone an' left some poor lass ta fend fer'erself in the rain" Came half shouted explanation, the old sentry squatting down near the entrance of their little hideaway.

"How did you-".

"Drunk folks like yellin' things a sober man would ne'er whisper to a priest on'is death bed" He interjected a second time, hard frown set on his face for a moment. "Cozy as this lil' hole looks, it ain't no place fer a lady. Umbrella's pretty big, yeah? I reckon ye'll fit. Let's get both yer soggy skins ta Quarrymill at least".

It was just like Buscarron to do something ridiculous like this. Ridiculous to Silvairre, at least, to be running after rumors in the rain. But the thought of proper shelter and a chance for personal space had him thanking the twelve for the old mans nonsensical ways. Sliding himself out of the hole in ancient bark, he made sure his boots held proper purchase on the soaked ground, and turned to level his gaze with... Whichever name she went by. Now wasn't the time to ask. He considered simply helping her out and onto her feet, but the thought of being in this deluge any longer than necessary- even with some form of protection and a light source- quickly erased it from his mind. Instead, he hooked her basket into the crook of one elbow, and without meeting her gaze, laid out the alternative.

"I am aware you will not be comfortable with this, but I intend to carry you. In the nicest way that it could possibly be said... You are the slowest walker I have ever had to keep pace with. 'Twould be the simplest solution, lest we be out here till the morrow".

After a moment of silent contemplation, of visible apprehension as she eyed him carefully and flickered her gaze to the other man in their midst, she simply shuffled over to the edge and nodded, pliant to his wishes. If she were to refuse, and it was Buscarron instead who deigned to lift her... No, she preferred this. Silvairre hadn't harmed her thus far, and if she could avoid giving him reason to? She would. Steady arms slid around her lower back and under the bend of her knees, before lifting her off the ground perhaps a little too hastily, anticipating a greater weight than she apparently possessed. A light 'Yip!' escaped the Miqo'te at the rush of movement, but she remained still and obedient, hands clenching the front of his undershirt in tight fists for fear of falling or being dropped.

Clearing his throat, Buscarron gained the younger mans attention and raised a brow, silently asking if they were ready to go. Receiving a nod in response, he proceeded to guide the pair back South, watching from the corner of his eye as the little Miss slowly loosened her grip on Silvairres shirt, allowing her head to rest against his collar as she let out a shaky breath. Silvairre, meanwhile, seemed unable to decide if he welcomed the change or not, lips tightening into a thinner line by the minute, eye twitching when she adjusted in his hold and accidentally brushed an ear along the underside of his jaw.

Biting his tongue to swallow an unwelcome chuckle, he simply did as promised and guided their small party towards Quarrymill, thinking to himself that maybe looking out for Nina would eventually help the lad loosen up a little. Boy hadn't had a real conversation with him since getting booted from the God's Quiver for showing a bit of compassion, might help crack that shell if his next attempt had kinder results.

A sight for sore eyes, Quarrymill's aetherite was a welcome beacon of civilization, promising at least an inn and a fireplace to dry off next to. Warmth tickled Silvairre's face as he entered the establishment, Buscarron holding the door open for ease of entry with arms still full, and he inhaled deep through his nose to ease the well-set chill. The Inns owner shot upright at the counter, surprised and more than a trifle mortified to be receiving customers so late, and in this weather no less.

"Good Gods! I'll set some tea to steep and fetch a load of towels, mkay? You can drape wet clothes on a chair or two near the fire if you've got any" She offered, voice growing quieter as she disappeared into the back, "The names Alleyne, if you didn't already know!".

Carefully lowered to a stand, Nina began to do just that, quietly retrieving soggy clothing and draping it across a couple of wooden chairs, still clothed in Silvairre's tunic down to her knees. A pink tail coiled its way around her left calf as if to keep it out of harms reach, the tip bare beyond a light fuzz that stood out starkly against the rest of the fluffy limb. With the inside lighting offering a proper look at her limbs, the stark difference in color between encircling scars and regular skin was hard to ignore, pale as paper and still scabbed in spots with signs of continued healing. Further marring limbs that were far too slim to belong to a healthy adult, were a littering of small circular scars, some old and silvery while others still carried the brightness of fresher burns, not the kind of injury one receives in an accident, but an intentional wounding, repeated, torturous.

Buscarron blew out the light of his lantern, setting it on the nearest table and sliding down into one of the many chairs as he watched her silently, aware that Silvairre remained stood near the door, stiff as a board. He grinned at the Inns plump proprietor as she returned with an armload of towels, a most charming flash of teeth that brought a blush to the blondes face and caused her to whap him playfully with the cloth instead of simply handing it to him. He watched as Silvairre finally removed himself from the entryway and slid the hat from his head to the table, gratefully accepting offered towel and rubbing it over his face and hair in an almost frustrated manner. Approaching Nina last, it was clear on her face that a hundred questions danced on her tongue, glancing back towards him as if he held silent answers. A simple shake of his head was all he gave, and she accepted his lack of input with a pout that promised to extract information later.

Alleyne disappeared again with promises of a warm drink as Nina began toweling her hair dry one section at a time, undoing the partial braid that Grandmother insisted would allow her to look upon her "Precious face" without collecting the strands into another means of torment, or leaving her brand free for the world to see. Several sizes too big for her, the collar of Silvairres tunic sagged to show between her shoulder blades, and with her hair parted and out of the way, both men were treated to the souring sight of further injury as lash lines criss-crossed visible skin, intermingled with more of the same circular scars that decorated her limbs.

"Who did that to ya, Lass?" Came gentle query from the older man, trying and failing to understand why someone would treat another this poorly.

Silvairre shot him a look, and he met the Elezens gaze with a raised brow. What, shouldn't he be asking? At this point he was wishing he'd asked sooner, but her clothing did a great job of hiding the truth. Silence told him he wouldn't be getting an answer so easily, the fear in her eyes as she turned to face him mirrored in the shake of her knees.

And then, she turned that apprehension to Silvairre.

What, was she asking him to intervene? Or to answer in her stead? A bit too forwards of her, given even he'd only the barest idea of her circumstances. The unasked question in her eyes went unanswered until a quick dip of pale blue in Buscarrons direction spelled it out for him. Oh. She wanted to know if Silvairre thought the man to be trustworthy.

"It's alright. Buscarron is trusted by many of us for myriad a reason, not least of which is his abundant kindness".

Well, file that as something the old Sentry hadn't expected to hear out the mouth of his majesty Silvairre.

Seemingly eased by this assurance, the Miqo'te knelt down by the fire and brought her tail up to curl over her lap, remaining quiet a moment longer as she thought on what exactly to say. Ears sagged and remained low to her head, though the start of her answer was delayed at Alleynes return with a tray-full of steaming teacups. Giving the girl a curious look as she settled the tray on the table her two companions already occupied, she slid into the seat next to Buscarron and, in the sweetest tone possible invited;

"Come sit with us at the table wontcha, love?".

Compliant as ever, she stood without complaint beyond a sad glance towards the fireplace, and crossed the room to their circular table, selecting the seat nearest Silvairre without much thought for it, and offering Buscarron a  belated answer.

"My Mas- old Master, the second one".

Alleyne paused with her arm half way across the table as she slid Silvairre his tea, suddenly very aware that she was accidentally inserting herself into something delicate. Giving Buscarron a nudge with her elbow in a bid for attention, she set to pouring his cup and spoke again.

"Alright, well, I take it you'll be staying till morning at least? Got a spare room or two left, I'll leave the keys on the counter so help yourselves mkay? And as for you, Sir, I'm sure you still remember which room to use?" She poked the older mans forehead with her index finger in a gentle flick, and he pulled a face of faux concentration to humm.

"Mmh, I might have an idea, memory's a little foggy though...".

With a playful swat to the back of his head, she excused herself in order to give them some privacy, and perhaps also to wash up before casual company met her bed. Silvairre wore a look born of both exhaustion and disdain at the brazen show of debauchery-to-be, attempting to wash it away with hot tea as Buscarron leveled his gaze back on Nina, presently coddling the cup in her palms for warmth.

"Second one?".

She merely nodded, unsure what she could possibly offer as elaboration.

"Where's the first one at? Dead, Gods be willing...".

"... Th-Thanalan, near the port" She answered after a pause, eyes flicking anxiously between him and her slowly cooling tea, "Do... Do I have to go back there?".

"What? Twelves' mercy, no, them trades are outlawed fer a reason, Lass".

She fell silent at that, squirming uncomfortably in her seat as the urge to flee refused to perish in full. Impromptu interrogator tapped a finger against the table in thought, carefully building a proper picture of the situation at hand and considering what to ask next when Silvairre added a question of his own.

"I find myself confused by your use of two separate names. Are you merely using one as an alias?".

"No, I-" Perhaps his tone was a little harsher than he'd intended, "They told me Nhio was my name, but I don't- I couldn't remember all of my name, so my first Master called me Nina and said it was close enough. It- Using my name makes my Grandmother upset, she likes the first one more" It's an almost frantic explanation, quietly squeaked out in an attempt to appease and spare herself imagined backlash. The Elezen grimaced.

"I see." A pause for thought, "Is she truly your Grandmother?".

Buscarron near choked on his tea at such a question, but held his tongue as the little Miss shook her head slowly.

"I don't know".

More fuel for Silvairre's unfortunate assessment of the situation.

"Whatcha mean ya don't know?".

"She... Says things about me, but they're not really me- And she gives me things that she says are mine but, they're not, and she looks so sad that I don't know what to do with them. She said, maybe teaching me something new would help, s-so I'm learning about Botany from her, but I don't think it's helping her feel better". Finally braving to actually drink her tea, both damp ears perk for a moment in delight as she sips.

"She's good to ya though, ain't she?"

"She's always kind, " Nina nods, "So I'm... I don't want to make her angry, s-so I'm trying my best".

"And that's why you were alone, you'd gone gathering in spite of my absence." Surely it would be appropriate to offer some kind of acknowledgement at her efforts? Or to ask if that meant their arrangement was at an end?

She gave a mid-sip noise of agreement, and the question sat on his tongue unwilling to be asked, buried under a sip of his own as he finished the drink. Buscarron seemed satisfied with his own understanding, and with a tired groan stretched out tense arms as he stood for bed.

"Alright, I'm gonna head off then. Both of yas get some rest too, yeah?" Outstretching an arm, he endeavored to place a friendly pat to the top of Nina's head, withdrawing the limb and holding both palms up to appease as the Miqo'tes expression contorted with terror, cup abandoned to the table as she recoiled in her seat with limbs held close. "Easy, easy- I ain't gonna hurt ya, no hands, got that message loud an' clear" He promised, understanding that while she might answer his questions, touch was off the table.

He couldn't fault her for that.

Left alone as Buscarron turned in for the night, Silvairre watched from the corner of his eye as Nina slowly uncurled herself, nervous shake returning to her shoulders as if expecting retribution for instinctual response. Perhaps they should call if a night as well. Giving her a moment to collect herself, he rose from the table in search of room keys, finding one upon the counter as promised and frowning at the implication. Because of course, the Gods held nothing but spite for him. Key in hand, he resolved to simply allow her the bed if the room were not miraculously furnished for two.

"We should take his advice and rest" He coaxes, moving towards the stairs and watching her over his shoulder in a silent bid that she follow. The message is received, and rather meekly does she follow him up the wooden steps.

Alas, the Gods really did seem to disdain the poor man, for the room provided only one bed. Sizeable enough for two, but a single bed all the same, and the queasy look on Nina's face relayed what were surely unpleasant thoughts. Doors click behind them seemed to spur both into action, the Miqo'te inhaling as if to speak while Silvairre delivered pre-thought courtesy.

"You may use the bed, I shall take the armchair and keep watch 'til morning".

He'd thought it the most proper solution, and at her look of surprise he felt the rising urge to roll his eyes.

"You don't... You won't-" She gulped down another shaky breath, opening her mouth to continue but seemingly unable to form necessary words.

They were alone in an Inn room, with a single bed between them, a marked difference in strength, and a storm preventing her from simply leaving. It wasn't hard to decipher the cause of her distress. Far too tired to even attempt the cushioning of his words, Silvairre offered his honest rebuttal to such an impossibility.

"You've nothing to worry about, I do not find you appealing in the slightest. Frankly, the idea of engaging in such activities with your kind is deeply repulsive.".

Insulting as his words should be, she raised surprised eyes to his face and properly met steely gaze, blinking in baffled shock with lips lightly parted. The shuddery breath that left her took with it enough tension to kill a smaller creature, and for the first time, they were able to properly look at each other without a veil of deep rooted fear clouding every action in suspicion. The tail that clung to her leg slowly unwound itself, sweeping softly behind her across the wooden floor- Still twitchy, but at ease.

"R-Really? I can lay down at the bottom of the bed if you want- It's not fair if you can't sleep too, and, and..." She searched for ways she could convince him not to go further out of his way, remembering how he'd remained awake in their little shelter and promised to guard her, "I already slept in the tree, s-so it's your turn, isn't it?".

Taken aback by the noticeable shift, his brow raised in tandem with his hand, coming to hover before him as if he had a point to make but lacked the words to voice it.

"No, I will not treat you like an animal and force you to the foot of the bed," Strange words to hear from his own lips, "But I do in fact find your ilk most unappealing."

"Then, if I'm gross, w-we can share? And you won't want to use me?".

To use... He shook his head, both to deny the idea and to wash unwelcome images from his mind, bothered by the way she seemed to embrace being referred to as grotesque. The bed was... Big enough, he supposed. She was small, he could maintain some modicum of personal space and still sleep comfortably enough.

"If that is well with you, then I will concede" Came tired reply, boots deftly undone and removed for bed.

In silent assurance that it was in fact well, Nina slipped out of her own footwear and took the wall-side half of their bed, laying on her belly and rubbing her face against the feather pillow for a moment as if soothed by how plush it felt. Silvairre found himself averting his gaze in favor of blowing out their rooms lantern, carefully slipping under the covers with full intent to avoid any brushing of limbs or sharing of warmth as he settled with his back to her. He would not indulge in more of that which he'd already tasted, Inadvertent and shameful as it had been with only the woods to bear witness.

"Silvairre?" Barely a whisper.

"Yes, Nina?" Seven hells, what now.

"Thank you, f-for not hurting me".

How does one even respond to that? It was far too late for complex thought, and his body begged for sleep as soon as he'd laid beneath the covers. With an audible sigh, he simply slurred the same noncommittal answer he always gave to her gratitude.

"You're welcome".

Chapter Text

Awakening in a bed not his own, the soft brush of warm air at the nape of Silvairres neck set tickled hairs on edge. Certain he hadn't moved in his sleep, the Elezen carefully rolled to his other side and cast a blurry frown at impromptu bedmate, not close enough to touch but certainly closer than last he was aware of.

Stirred by his movement, he watched as sleepy eyes fluttered open a fraction, nose twitching to ascertain where she was and who she was with. Apparently pleased with her findings, she wriggled closer to her source of warmth and safety, sighing in approval once chilled nose brushed against his chest and allowing her eyes to fully close, enticed back to sleep by the promised lack of unwanted advances.

He was being tested, surely. Tested for his ability to resist a temptation beyond anything carnal, to resist a simple gift of trust and warmth, to sate touch-starved hungers and indulge in comforts long denied to a traitor such as himself. Acceptance of this kind by one of his own would be different, but to accept it from one such as her? The very same tribe of outsiders who fooled him once already, at the cost of his career, of his peoples' trust? It would be sacrilege.

Stiff as hardened leather, he remained firmly planted and simply waited for her to wake up, either unwilling or unable to leave the bed and remove himself from the situation. She seemed... Peaceful, getting up would disturb that slumber, he told himself. It was more appropriate to simply allow her the comfort without engaging in it for himself, even if watching her snooze so peacefully with her nose nestled to his chest acted as lure with the promise that it was fine, that the trust he'd earned and her utter harmlessness made it acceptable to be vulnerable in return- If only for a little while.

Gentle knocking interrupted them before a decision could be made, and he didn't know whether to curse or bless the intruder as he slid from between the covers to answer the door, righting his undershirt and combing fingers through his hair before answering. Alleyne poked her head in to greet them both good morning, and held out a folded bundle of clothing for Silvairre to take. Ah, Ninas, of course.

With the promise of breakfast ringing out as she took her leave, he turned with dried wools in hand to see sleepy charge sat up on her haunches, still dressed in his tunic with blankets crumpled about her waist. Rubbing sleep from her eyes with one hand, she rested the other in front of herself, tail flicking idly as she came around with bleary blinks. Without a word, he placed her dried clothing in front of her and turned his back, a quiet 'ah' audible as she picked up on his request and followed by the shifting of fabric as she got up to re-dress.

An soft tug to the back of his undershirt indicated she was done, and he slid the returned tunic over his head in silence before reaching for his leathers. Ah, it was still warm. Of course it would be. Turning to face her once more with his gear firmly re-attached, he stalled at the sight of her making the bed, uncertain if he should stop her and explain Alleyne would likely be washing them, or help. In the end he simply stared, ever the awkward bystander.

Noise greeted the both of them as they returned to the Inns main floor, all manner of patrons occupying the previously empty tables as they loudly shared mornings greetings and ate their fill. Buscarron waved them over to his own table with a cheery good morning over a mouthful of eggs, all but demanding they sit themselves down and have something to eat, and not worry about the tab. Convenient, but awkward. Such kindnesses ill-befit an outsider and a traitor. Regardless, neither of them was in much of a position to argue, finding themselves seated and served in the blink of an eye- Scrambled eggs, straight from a hot skillet. 

"Bah, come on girlie- I'm sure ya got room for more'an that," Japed their benefactor, pausing to loudly munch on toast, "Gotta get some protein in yer system or a strong breeze'll carry ya off!".

Fiddling awkwardly with her own fingers, the Miqo'te pulled a face, half a plate-full of eggs and fresh cup of tea heavy in her stomach.

"It's not- They're very nice, but I'll be sick if I eat too much..."

Pausing mid chew, the Hyur hummed in understanding. It wasn't the usual story of a lady underfeeding herself- She was still recovering from the ravages of starvation, left with a body that'd eaten away at itself in desperate search of nutrition.

"Well, don't go worrying 'bout the rest then, yeah? I'll get Alleyne ta wrap it up 'nd take it back ta the bar with me, ain't gonna waste good eggs".

Much to Silvairres continued embarrassment, Buscarron followed breakfast with the insistence they make use of one of Quarrymills chocobo for an easier trip home, jogging off to hire the bird before he had a chance to say no or argue about paying him back. He watched Nina eye the animal curiously, half hoping she'd be afraid of it and give them reason to make the journey back themselves, but found the truth in opposite as Buscarron invited her to pet its downy yellow feathers. Tentative fingers ran down the birds neck, and it let out a low whistle in appreciation for affection given, squinting its eyes shut to bask.

It was as she took that moment to interact with the animal that Silvairre realized, they would be sharing the bird. What was it the Lominsans oft said? 'Til sea swallows all'? He wished some swell of water would appear to do just that and allow him peace.

Regardless of his silent suicidal idealization, he found himself sat squarely in the saddle, watching the older man get down to Nina's eye level and ask for permission to lift her. The idea visibly distressed her, repeated assurance that it would only be for a moment and he would not lay a hand on her after the fact needed before she finally acquiesced, a choked squeak leaving her as he effortlessly lifted her below the armpits and set her sideways at Silvairres front. Once free of foreign touch, she settled quietly in her seat, watching as her basket was attached at chocobos rear.

A swift pat to the animals rump sent it skittering off, the initial lurch startling unprepared driver as he jerked upright, free arm wrapping around his passengers middle as she swayed a bit too far. Curse everything about this situation, for all his attempts to avoid inappropriate contact had still led to what was a hug- Even if by the barest of definitions. Scandalized as he already was, it didn't help that she willingly leaned against him, initial tension at his touch leaving her quickly now that she no longer feared what he might want from her.

His lack of need to actively steer the bird left him with little to focus on besides the current predicament, palms sweating and face certainly scrunched. With the top of her head inches from his chin, he was made acutely aware of the scent of her shampoo, arm wrapped at her belly feeling the slight motions of her breath, the warmth of her leaning fully into him without tremor or flinch. There was a real, living person in his arms for the first time in half a decade, and she seemed content with being there. Sweet succor for the lonely soul.

Silvairre caved.

How weak was he, to shift his weight ever so slightly forwards? To dip his head and meet her crown with his nose? It felt wrong, as though he were using her for his own comfort as others had before him, but for a different form of satisfaction. Regardless of whether she noticed the change, she neither moved nor complained, both arms draped gently atop the one he held her with. For a while, he simply shut his eyes and indulged in the past, in a time where his younger self would have had people waiting for his return, people to hold like this and offer him comfort in return.

It wasn't to last of course, unseemly as it would be for others to lay eyes on such a sight, and as the first whispers of civilization reached his ears the touch starved mess of a man forced himself to bring his private little moment of indulgence to an end, straightening out once more and keeping his eyes firmly forward in anticipation of their arrival. Nina glanced up finally, and he dared not meet her gaze in case it held his shame, thankful that she simply settled back in place after a moment. Stiffness returned as they approached their intended gate, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn't the source as he laid eyes on the pair of Wood Wailers guarding the entrance.

"They wouldn't dare, most Wood Wailers are strictly opposed to such things. Besides, 'tis too public a place for such behaviors" He offered, uncertain of his drive to do so, and conflicted by the way she relaxed once more. Perhaps she trusted him too much.

Safely within Gridanian borders, Silvairre deftly dismounted their borrowed mount, finding far less of a fuss compared to Buscarrons attempts as he then assisted Nina down. The bird was dismissed to return homeward, and basket in hand, the Miqo'te began leading him homewards. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd followed, or if she'd truly intended for him to accompany her to her door, only really realizing he'd done so once they stood before a home he didn't recognize.

Strangely, Nina knocked rather than simply open the door, another testament to how out of place she felt within what was supposedly her childhood home- Large but modest, clearly outfitted for a bustling family. Wrenched near clean from its hinges a moment later, Madam Nelbahs puffy red face met them with dark ringed eyes, clearly lacking in rest as she flung her arms around smaller relative.

"Nymeias mercy, you're alright!".

Somewhat awkwardly, Nina stood still as her Grandmother buried teary eyes against her shoulder, remembering the basket in her hands and finally greeting the old woman.

"Ah- I still have Fufuchas apples, they're all okay-"

"Oh to the Ixal with the rotten apples, I'm glad you're okay!" She half scolded, bringing shaky hands up to cup embarrassed cheeks, "I thought you'd been taken from me again..."

Averting his eyes from the scene, Silvairre looked instead to the open doorway to find a familiar face leaning against it, immediately flustering as Luciane smiled curiously at him and sauntered over.

"N-no I'm okay- Silvairre kept me safe".

He just wanted to go home.

"Did he now?" Asked the other Elezen, brow raised as she came to stand beside him, palm placed atop his shoulder and earning a confused frown at the gesture.

"Buscarron found us in the storm and escorted us to Quarrymill for the night." He curtly offered in explanation, not missing the way Luciane hummed knowingly. Yes, it was an abbreviation. No, there was no reason to pry.

"I'll have to let the others know, then. I'm sure Buscarron will let Leih and Ardbert know when they get there, but I'll leave word that you're both safe with the rest of the guild too, just in case".

"Both of us?" Now he truly was confused, how had they known they were together?

Luciane leveled an almost exasperated look at him, pout hard set on her lips as she glared incredulously.

"Silvairre you're one of the first  to arrive at our guildhall every morning without fail. Your friends went to check on you and found no one home, of course people are looking for you".

"Your friends".

Truly, he had nothing to say to that, simply lowering his eyes to the ground in front of him in silence. Luciane offered another pat to the shoulder her palm rested on, and as she departed offered a most sincere sounding;

"I'm glad you're safe. See you tomorrow alright?".

Silence at her departure told him both Miqo'te had watched the whole thing, and as he awkwardly cleared his voice, the elder offered unexpected invitation.

"Silvairre, was it? Come, join us for lunch. I'll run Nhio a bath and we can have a chat about what happened." Exhausted as she looked, her stare was firm, unlikely to accept no for an answer.

Rather than assert that no, he did not fraternize with beasts, he found his feet shepherding him through the door before he had a chance to decline. It was the first time in years that he'd been invited into someone else's home, and curious glances scanned the various objects decorating the open living space. Old children's toys nestled into bookcases, various drawings and hunt trophies proudly displayed along with the occasional broken weapon or piece of armor. They seemed to be a... Colorful family, to say the least. Guided towards a comfortable looking set of couches, the elder bid he sit down and excused herself, ushering her granddaughter towards the other end of the house and presumably fussing over her as she seemed fond of.

A strange sense of emptiness filled this place, too quiet for its size, as if its owners had long left and the house remained as evidence of their existence. Just a fleeting glimpse into an abode that should by all appearances be filled with the pitter patter of feet and the hum of familial coexistence. It reminded him of his old home, before the silence had overwhelmed and he'd moved into a smaller abode lest the past swallow him whole. Others had drowned in much the same way, choosing to join their families in whatever lay beyond rather than remain by their lonesome. Luckily for Silvairre, he'd had the Gods Quiver to give him purpose.

Had.

Gentle shuffling woke him from his small trance, and he glanced up in the direction of the noise, clinking crockery and the tapping of feet, followed by Nina's grandmother returning with a tray.

More gods damned tea.

Without asking if he actually wanted any, she simply poured a cup for each of them and took her seat across from the Elezen, tray resting on the circular coffee table that sat between her couches. A little more composed than she'd initially been, Madam Nelbah gently blew on her drink and took an eager sip, ears perking forwards much the same way Ninas had the night before.

"So she tells me you saved her." Came the quiet beginnings of an uncomfortable conversation. She sipped again, eyes remaining on the rim of her cup. "I'd like to ask, why?".

"Exposure can kill even experien-"

"I don't mean from the weather, though I appreciate it all the same. I mean from your fellow countrymen. It's no secret how much you disdain our kind, young man. Most Gridanians hold at least some contempt for us, no matter what we contribute or how hard we work to earn our place. So, I ask again. Why?"

Her stare was not an angry one, but the intensity of it had Silvairre swallowing hard despite the dryness in his mouth, and he understood why she'd provided him with a drink before broaching the topic. He took an awkward sip and attempted an answer, close as he could to the truth without stirring his own discomfort.

"Both the Wood Wailers and the Gods Quiver are charged with caring for the safety of Gridanian citizens, outsider or not. Their behavior was inexcusable, Ni- Nhio did not deserve such treatment, much the same as anyone else. It is barbaric." It would have to do.

"Barbaric... Isn't that how you see us to begin with?" The old bat seemed intent on interrogating him.

"Yes, well I... May not agree with your peoples traditions, nor the 'mockery' I suppose, of our own. Those opinions aside, I do not believe any speaking race is deserving of such cruelties.".

She merely hummed in thought and sipped her tea as he awkwardly partook of his own, giving him time to squirm in his discomfort.

"You brought her home to me. I owe you a great deal for keeping her safe, and Luciane assures me you are capable of behaving professionally, which I will admit you've lived up to. Frankly, you were never supposed to fill these shoes- Aliapoh was a much better fit." Was this a compliment or an insult? "But- Perhaps this whole situation has been a blessing in disguise"

"... Pray, perhaps elaborate please?"

"She does not like men." It's stated bitterly, though hardly aimed at him, "As far back as she can remember, they've been responsible for every terrible thing that's happened to her. My hopes were that by enlisting that young keeper girl to accompany her, it would give her a chance to make a friend, to settle on her feet and grow a little more confident in herself, connect her with another Miqo'te with a background in our style of archery. Instead? She got you- Someone who despises the fact that our people dare to wield bows, a man much larger than she is, and with a falm of fine lumber wedged so deep up your rectum that if you fell forwards you'd struggle to stand up.".

Ok that was clearly meant as an insult.

"That... Hardly sounds like a blessing".

"Indeed, I wouldn't think so either. However my opinion isn't what matters here, it's Nhios. You are the first and only man she has trusted since coming home to me, never a rotten thing to say about you after your weekly trip. It's always 'Silvairre helped me carry this' and 'Silvairre lowered another branch for me', you heard her yourself today, 'Silvairre kept me safe'. You aren't the most polite or pleasant person to deal with, and while I'm sure there's further context behind 'It was okay because he said I was gross'-".

Gods just smite him now-.

"The fact of the matter is, my granddaughter feels safe with you. Whether you consider her a friend or no more than a burden, I won't assume- But you've given her a comfort I've struggled to provide. She'll hardly even speak with young Ardbert despite being responsible for saving her".

Now that, he hadn't known.

"This is all rather uncomfortable, if I'm to be honest" He sighs, refusing to meet piercing gaze.

"It should be, you're a stuck up bigot. But I'll surround myself with a dozen of your sort if it makes Nhio happy. All I ask is that you don't go out of your way to break her trust.".

So that's what this was really about.

"If it's any consolation, Madam, I have no intentions of harming her- Or of taking my duties lightly, for that matter".

"It is. Just know I'll be holding you to it".

Silvairres thorough undressing came to an appropriate end as the subject of their discussion returned, cheeks rosy from the warmth of her bath, hair loose and fluffy. As opposed to the way she presented herself outside of the house, Silvairre was surprised to see her in a plain old sun dress, light blue and down to the knees with her tail freely swishing much as it had the night before when it was just the two of them. Her grandmother gave him a final, pointed look, and he understood. 'She trusts you'.

Lunch had been almost painfully ordinary compared to the way Madam Nelbah had dug her claws in prior, leaving the Elezen with a sense of whiplash as he picked at his food in order to be polite. He'd watched the older woman fuss over her granddaughters hair, and participated in idle chatter about his time within the Gods Quiver as they ate. It was... Strange. Normal. And though Ninas discomfort was palpable whenever the elder mentioned things she'd supposedly done as a child, or attempted to braid her hair tighter than she was comfortable with, Silvairre had found himself thinking it could've passed as a normal family gathering.

Faux, then, to include himself in that picture.

Here he lay, staring at the wooden ceiling of his little home, atop the comfort of his own bed and too tired to bother changing beyond kicking off his boots, haunted by the fact that he swore he could still smell Nina, as if they'd never dismounted that chocobo and were simply spending time together as it pattered through the forest.

Right, his tunic. She'd slept in it, of course it still smelled like her.

Concerned by how genuinely he considered leaving it on, Silvairre rose from his bed with a groan, discarding the garment and forcing himself to change into his night things. As embarrassingly pleasant as it was to have a reminder of his small reprieve from solace, he could not bring himself to sleep with it taunting him.

Yes, that's what it was doing, wasn't it. Taunting him with the knowledge that he'd caved and sought out physical comfort. That she'd trusted him with so much when he'd never been particularly kind to her.

That here and now, in what was supposed to be the personal haven of his own home, Silvairre was truly and utterly alone.

Chapter Text

Past grievances refused to leave Silvairre alone it seemed, as not long after his unfortunate adventure with Nina he'd found himself set upon by Pawah Mujuuk. Perhaps 'set upon' was overly dramatic, but it all felt a little too on the nose to not be some form of divine punishment. He'd not been sent alone of course, forced to work with both the feral little Miqo'te that always nipped at his heels, and the overly enthused Hyur that could seemingly do no wrong in Lucianes eyes.

It figures then, that they would fail to bring his target- their target- to justice. He should have been allowed to handle this by himself.

He'd made no mention of the fact that they'd gone looking for him, choosing to avoid the topic altogether as if Luciane hadn't spoken a word in the hopes it would never come up again. As they made for the guildhall to deliver their report, however, Ardbert the tactless had taken it upon himself to dredge the weeks old ordeal up from the hole Silvairre had tried to bury it in with an out of the blue;

"So... Where'd you run off to? Y'know, before that storm hit." Subtle as the sun.

"I'm sure Buscarron already informed you-".

"Aha! So you did know we went looking".

An irritated growl left him at being caught out, and he kept his eyes on the path ahead as if he couldn't feel two identical smirks boring into him. Long standing curiosities fermented into frustration, and though it was hardly appropriate, Silvairre decided;

Fine, two could play this game.

"And what of you? You're the one that retrieved my latest problem from whatever squalid dungeon she was being held in, are you not?" Ardbert grimaced as if sucking a sour grape, prompting Silvairre to continue, "And then you bring her here to a supposed relative she has no memory of, miraculously reuniting them? Do you even realize how much suspicion this places upon your shoulders?".

"Hey, how did we go from being nosy to this?" Leih interrupted, eyeing him with what could almost pass for concern, if he didn't already know better.

"Silvairre, it's..." Ardbert sighed, usual boyish grin now a conflicted frown, "It's more complicated than that, just, trust me on this okay?" He attempted to place a hand atop the Elezens shoulder as a friendly pat, only to startle at the sudden jolt of aether coursing through him.

Silvairre stilled, eyes distant for a long moment as Leih tried and failed to gain his attention. Focus returned to his eyes after several breaths, as if someone had flipped a switch, and he instantly stumbled for the nearest tree, using it to support himself while emptying his stomach into the brush without explanation.

"Oh... Shit." Ardbert hissed, realizing what he'd done- Or rather, what his 'gift' had just done, whimsical as it often was.

"What do you mean 'Oh shit'?" the Miqo'te beside him asked, carefully inching towards Silvairre as shaking arms continued to lean against chosen tree.

Before the Hyur could attempt to answer, Silvairre took several wobbled steps to properly re-gain his footing, striding in their intended direction with apparent purpose.

"Wha- Hey! Where are you going?!" Called smaller companion, frustrated by her clear lack of context.

"Home." Came rattled response, "I don't know what kind of- of vile arcane trickery that was, but Gods help you if you so much as think about applying it to me again!" Angry as he attempted to sound, his voice shook.

"What about Luciane? We have to-"

"You handle it, Aliapoh. Surely that shan't be too hard." Even while distressed, he wasted no chance to punch low.

Letting out a frustrated 'Ugh!', Leih readied herself for another argument with her senior, stopped only by a very guilty looking Ardbert.

"It's fine, just... Let him go. It's kind of my fault".

"Then out with it already! It's like there's some kind of big secret between the two of you that I'm just not allowed to know about even though I'm right here" She complained, frustration evident as she lifted her arms to gesture at herself.

Plonking himself against a tree several paces ahead, he patted the grass next to him in invitation, watching Leih raise a brow and think on the offer before opting to join him. Ardbert took in a breath, and considered carefully how much he should really be divulging here. But it was Leih, and he'd found in her a friend that cared little about his race or outside affiliations. He could trust her.

"Have you... Ever heard of something called an 'Echo'? I don't mean- Not the kind where you yell into a canyon, it's more like... A power?".

Sudden vertigo took Silvairre at Ardberts touch, dizzied by then shift in his surroundings as he found himself suddenly displaced, the forest gone in favor of rolling sands and ancient outcroppings of rock, sparse vegetation littering the landscape with sharp grasses and cacti. At his feet, someone groaned, and he leapt back at the sight of Nina slowly sitting herself up.

At least, it appeared to be her, younger perhaps? His mind reasoned she must be a relative, before his main concern crashed over him once more- Where in the seven hells was he?

"Excuse me Miss, I seem to have found myself-".

The squeal of a chocobo interrupted him, and he turned to see a small merchants wagon making its way across the sands, driven by a Roegadyn of the Hellsguard tribe. Calling the bird to a stop, he seemed to ignore Silvairre entirely and simply regarded the young Miqo'te as she sat in the sand and held her head, short-bow and quiver holstered at her back.

"You alright there Missy?" He called out, hopping down from his seat and coming to kneel in front of her, passing clean through the startled Elezen in the process.

They couldn't see him. Couldn't touch him. As if he'd died and become a ghost, returning to awareness at some unknown point in time and baring witness to events around him. Reaching a hand to help the young woman up, the unnamed Roegadyn brushed sand from her leathers with a quick pat-down, holding her up as she swayed on her feet.

"Easy there sweetheart, that's it," He coaxed, slowly letting go as she gained her footing. "You got a name?".

Pulling a face as she tried to formulate a response, her mouth opened and closed in fruitless attempts to answer, eventually coming up with the few syllables she could offer.

"N... Nhi... N-ugh" She swayed again, held up by the merchants hold on her elbow.

"What was that?" He asked, receiving nothing but disoriented silence from the girl, "Y'know what? That'll do for now, 'Nina' it is. Nice to meetcha, the name's Toffmhas" A thumbs up with his free hand punctuated the introduction, and he began gently guiding her back towards his vehicle.

Wait.

"Let's at least get you outta the heat first, I got a place half a bell from here".

Don't go with him.

A sudden jerking of the ground beneath his feet, and Silvairre found himself free from the desert sun, watching what he now presumed to be a memory play out before him, unable to shake himself free from whatever horrid spell was cast upon him. A table, Nina sat with her elbows against its surface as she slid fingers against her scalp.

"So what was a young thing like you doing out there with all this chaos going on?" Toffmhas asked, voice echoing from elsewhere in the room.

"I... I don't know".

A glass of juice was placed in front of her, pushed further in her direction with a gentle slide of large fingers as her host sipped his own.

"Alright well, where'd you come from? Not every day we see one of the Keepers out this far".

Squinting over a sip of offered drink, Nina simply shook her head.

"I don't know" Panic had begun to build in her voice, ears flat as the gravity of her situation seemed to set in.

"Sun does that to you sometimes, dehydration'll have a man wandering dazed and confused if he ain't careful. You'll be alright once you get some fluid into you".

Shooting him a hopeful look, determination settled across her features. She lifted the glass to her lips and drank deep, finishing it off in one go before gasping for a breath. Toffmhass let out a deep bellied laugh, good natured in tone but anticipation sharpened his eyes, watching like a hungry predator as his concoction took effect. Slurred in a different manner now, she could do naught but squirm as he lifted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, leaving his little private area and transitioning from one memory into another, subjecting a stunned Silvairre to yet another disconcerting lurch in his stomach.

Sweet smelling incenses assaulted his nose, and he pinched his nose shut in an attempt to ward off the assault on his senses. The space was open, all manner of pillows and cushions adorning the floor around a handful of low wooden tables, most occupied with inhabitants partaking in what were surely illegal substances via elaborate tubes and bubbling devices while coddling working women at their sides in manners far from innocent, curtains of beads decorating the walls and obscuring what lay beyond various doorways.

Emerging through one-such curtain, Toffmhas hauled Nina through this smoke-hazed den of debauchery with no more than a nod to another of his kind, sat at a counter from which he tilted his own head in silent greeting. Moving slower this time, the scenery around Silvairre followed memorys subject, down stairs carved from the surrounding rock and into a large common room of some sort, complete with a stove built into the wall itself, smoke pulled into a chimney that presumably led to the surface.

Dumping his cargo to the floor, the Roegadyn gave a sharp whistle to grab the attention of his men, all eyes on him as he picked an assistant out from the little group.

"You, get all that hair outta her face. Got another stray that needs re-homing" He ordered, striding towards the fireplace and picking up a particularly strange looking poker, end buried amongst the hot coals as he continued. "Listening, girl? This is your home now. Doesn't matter if you get out, doesn't matter if you trick someone into helping you run away- One look at your face and you'll get sent right back to me".

Unable to move but clearly still aware, frightened eyes stared intently at the man as he spoke, tears pooling at their corners from the sting at her scalp as the Hyur handling her simply yanked her into a kneeling position. Tense silence, unbroken other than by the crackle of flames as Toffmhas gave the poker a shake for even heating. Another underling of his found himself at the receiving end of his index finger, tensing to attention at being addressed.

"You. Fetch me a fresh set of cuffs and some solder.".

Scrambling off to do as instructed, the other Hyur quickly disappeared through a doorway at rooms end, the rest of them watching intently as communal Master removed his brand from the fire and inspected its glow.  With little ceremony he stepped towards Nina as she kneeled with her hair pulled upwards, desperately eyeing the implement approaching her cheek. Had she the physical capacity to do so, the Miqo'te may have screamed to the sizzle of hot metal against her flesh. Instead a quiet whine was all the noise she made as the scent of burnt skin wafted through the room. Treating this as no more than an everyday process, Toffmhas returned the brand-end to nestle between the coals and gave it a good shake to loosen any stuck skin, and returned it to its brethren before selecting a short, thin tipped poker instead.

"Get rid of her clothes, I don't want any of that shit catching fire and stinking the place up".

Seemingly happy to oblige, the subordinate holding her up simply dropped her to her side and rolled her belly-up, making quick work of buckles and straps before simply tearing away at the layers beneath her armor, baring her to those around him with little regard for the continued distress in her eyes at her inability to fight back. Various bruises littered her forearms and shins, presumably earned through whatever scuffle led her to being abandoned amongst the dunes. Silvairre attempted to look away, to close his eyes and save himself the sight of whatever came next, to have some respect for the privacy of someone who couldn't fight back.

It didn't work. He lacked hands to cover his face with, eyelids to hide behind. He was a spectator, forced to endure the whims of this horrid vision.

Returning with a collection of metal cuffs and a roll of soldering metal as instructed, the second underling simply deposited them atop the nearest table and stepped back, watching much as the rest of them did while their boss fastened them around wrists and ankles one by one, swapping the size to ensure a firm fit before retrieving thin poker from the fire and using it to apply lines of molten solder across the cracks where each cuff clicked into place. Permanent, irreversibly marking her as his own and fettering her like an animal down to the thick metal collar round her neck. 

"Dump her in one of the empties, I'll show her the ropes once she's up and moving" Smaller than his master, the Hyur simply hefted her under the armpits and began dragging her through one of the doorways exiting deeper into the underground, "Oh- and slap some salve on her cheek while you're at it. The doc's still out but I want that brand healing nice and clean. Don't fuck it up y'hear?".

Dropping once more into the floor-less void between memories, Silvairre had just enough time to think that Buscarron had been right all along, before the ground met his feet hard and sent him to spectral knees. A small room, dimly lit by the lamp near reinforced door, bare beyond a mattress tucked in one corner and a small but seemingly functional washroom adjacent, minus a door. Curled up in the corner furthest away sat Nina, tail between her legs and hugged to her chest in a futile attempt to cover herself, softly sobbing as she held one palm atop the dressing so kindly applied atop her burn.

Metal creaked to signal unknown arrival, heavy footsteps echoing almost purposefully in a bid to intimidate until coming to a stop by the door of her new abode. Practically punted open after a quick clinking of keys, Toffmhas sauntered in without a care in the world, allowing the door to simply swing shut behind him as he stalked startled prey. Squatting down in front of her, a wolfish grin split his face at the way she trembled, and he reached forwards to gently cup her uninjured cheek as if to offer comfort.

"P-Please, let me g-go home" Nina begged, trapped between the corner at her back and the man holding her captive.

"Shhhhh," Came mock soothe, "You don't even know where that is, do you? Dumb little bitch..." Soft tone made mockery with scathing words, spilling fresh tears down wet cheeks. "This is home now, and all you gotta do is behave, okay? If someone wants to use this cute little mouth?" His thumb trailed down from her cheek to rub suggestively across trembling lower lip, "You open it and do as you're fucking told. Bite anyone and I'll pull every single tooth out of your mouth with my own fingers. Any questions?".

Too stunned and terrified to do anything beyond silently tremble, the girl remained quiet.

"Good girl. And if they want your pretty little cunt? You stay still like a proper whore and take it, 'cause that's all you're gonna be from now on." The urge to vomit rose within Silvairre, but there was nothing to lose and no way to heave it. "I know Seekers are a real randy bunch, but you're the first Keeper I've ever got my hands on... You ever been fucked before? You look old enough".

"I d-don't-"

"You don't know, 'course you don't." He sighed, looping a finger through the metal ring of her collar and using it to pull her to unsteady feet. "Maybe I'll be lucky number one, huh? Wouldn't that be a laugh" A firm shove sent her careening towards the mattress, strangled yelp knocked out of her as she attempted to brace for the fall.

Muscles still sluggish from her Masters drug of choice, Nina barely managed to support her weight on unsteady elbows before Toffmhas descended upon her like a starved animal, one hand holding smaller wrists above her head while the other palmed at soft breasts that heaved with each panicked breath. A plea that he stop broke through scared sobs, only to be muffled as her assailants hand freed bruising breast to clamp it across her mouth.

"Cry and squirm as much as you want," He growled out, meeting her gaze with a hard-set glare, "But if you try and tell me to stop again, I'll brand your tits, your legs, make sure you don't go forgetting who's in charge here. Got it?".

Reduced to desperate little sniffles as he took her ability to breathe through her mouth, Nina blinked up at him through tears that refused to stop, paralyzed by the thought of further burns searing her skin. Displeased by the lack of an answer, he removed his hand in order to deliver a harsh slap to non-injured cheek, taking hold of her hair to force eye contact once more as she attempted to recover.

"Are you deaf?" Came cruelest snarl, "I asked if you got that. Do you understand?" Openly sobbing as she processed fresh pain, Nina attempted to give a frantic little nod, tugging at her own hair in the process until her Master let go.

Newly freed hand found its way to his trousers, hastily undoing belt buckles and buttons in order to free himself without fully undressing. Two fingers then pressed into his new pets mouth, pushing at her throat until she gagged and coating them in spittle. She coughed at their removal, and he wasted no time lining one up with her entrance, inserting the digit with a firm push. The Miqo'te squealed at sudden intrusion, tensing up as best disobedient muscles could manage and earning a bark of laughter from the man above her as he twisted his wrist to work it in further.

"Good Gods, if I didn't already know your kind could take it, I'd probably be feeling sorry for you!" He mocked, forcing his second moistened finger to join the first.

A proper scream finally left her, fingers and toes curled tight in a pointless effort to wriggle free from his grasp. Unchallenged by struggles, Toffmhas pumped and scissored his fingers within her for several agonizing seconds, offering the bare minimum preparation to ensure proper entry. Satisfied with her slickness, he withdrew them in favor of lining his own need up with her smaller body, throbbing head fat against a hole clearly not designed to take him.

"Thanks for bein' so gullible, kid".

Releasing her hands to place both his own against toned hips, the Roegadyn entered her with three sharp thrusts, stilling once he'd taken her fully.

"Fffuck-" He hissed out through clenched teeth, brow taut and eyes scrunched shut in apparent pleasure. For a long moment he simply remained hilted within unwelcoming walls, uncaring of the way his slaves navel distended at his intrusion, or the fact that she'd yet to exhale or cry out, though the first slow roll of his hips mingled a low groan of enjoyment with her broken keen. "Oh I'm going to enjoy you...".

Feeling the fight fully leave her, Ninas arms simply fell where he'd left them, sobs unhindered as they left her with every unwanted thrust. All she could do was cry through the encounter, a louder wail bubbling up once he found a rougher rhythm, his own noises filthy and degrading as he lavished her with backhanded praises and claims of ownership. Eventually emptying within her as a final show of ownership, the Roegadyn fell forwards to mouth and nip at her breasts as if they were lovers, basking in the afterglow of his own enjoyment.

"Just gimme a- Ough, fuck girl, lemme catch my breath real quick..." He panted, audibly pleased with his prized catch, "You'll wring me dry with a cunt like that, Gods, I'm gonna have to watch it...".

Deep, unrestrained hatred for the man in question settled itself in Silvairres presently incorporeal stomach, not explicitly due to the recipient of his unwanted affections, but for the very nature of the crime itself. Despicable, disgusting, below anything he could excuse for a spoken race no matter how outlandishly uncivilized they might otherwise be. Nina likely wasn't the first, and he doubted she was the last woman caught unawares by this waste of breath.

Yet another shift in scenery interrupted him, an identical room with a different mattress- A replacement, perhaps. Sleeping lightly atop it was that same familiar face, hair a little longer, features a little rounder. She'd aged, though not by a whole lot. She slept with her tail tucked up between her legs, curled into a loose ball with limbs held close and nose buried in her own fur. Old bruises marred the skin around her bindings, while fresh ones bloomed across her skin in other areas, telling of the kind of treatment she'd been subjected to.

Pink ears twitched to a noise Silvairre himself missed, and she woke with a startled intake of breath that barely counted for a gasp. Clearly frightened, she sat herself up on her knees with tail still betwixt them, hugging it close for some form of comfort as she waited on whoever approached. Voices began to echo down the hallway, that of her Master and an unfamiliar man, discussing as they walked.

"So, anything in particular you're looking for? Or d'you just want something warm to squeeze?" Toffmhas, tone warm and pleasant as ever.

"Got any cats? Had me a real nice one, 'til she broke. She's that bitch of an Admirals problem now" Gruff and uncultured, the cadence of a truly outstanding individual.

"I've got one," He stressed, "But she's popular. Finest fuck this side of the sands, brings in a lotta business...".

"I'm more interested in'er face than'er holes, give us a look at the lass. Then ye can start that 'ole merchants spiel".

The telltale clinking of keys foretold doors opening, light from beyond its frame blocked by an imposing Seawolf that slowly entered the room. He circled the shaking Miqo'te more like a shark than any wolf, thick boots scuffing against stone flooring as he assessed potential purchase. Dark eyes scanned the way she hung her head and shook, the way she clung to her tail for cover as if any purity could possibly remain to be hidden. Bringing himself to one knee, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt her head, staring into bright blue eyes that pooled with dread as seconds ticked by, round pupils denoting her lineage as one of the moon children. Shy, demure, unable to mask her fear.

Grinning in delight at finding whatever he'd been looking for, he released her chin to offer a friendly pat against her cheek, savoring the instinctual flinch at hands approach that warred against the obedience keeping her put.

"Yeah, you'll do real nice". He muttered, returning to his full height and glancing at old friend, "Alright, how big a hole's this gonna chew outta our coffers?".

"Thirty."

"Are ya kiddin'?" Came cross between a scoff and a laugh, "Half that".

"Mmmgh, twenty five. I don't think you're aware how much this is gonna cost me...".

"Eighteen and ye pick out a couple of holes from the riffraff we got on-board. Caught'em fresh on our way here but the lads broke'm in too quick. Even got some of them scaled girls, since you're into that sorta thing".

Eyes widening a touch in interest, Toffmhas stroked stubbled chin and hummed, clearly displeased by lowering his price but enticed by the idea of owning an Au-Ra or two. At the very least, they'd be bound to bring in some coin as word spread.

"They riddled with anythin'?".

"Nah, we keep'em clean enough. Plus me crew knows better'an to be sticking themselves in a different hole at every port".

"Twenty, final offer. And I get at least one of your Au-Ra".

"Ah fuck it, fine but she better last a couple o' seasons before goin' quiet on me. Just make sure ye stuff'er in a crate or somethin' first, had enough o' bloody rubberneckers stickin' their beaks in our business...".

Words grew incomprehensible as interstitial haze returned, seabirds screeching above as the open ocean came into view. The stone floor beneath Silvairres knees turned to wood, creaking ropes and billowing sails filling his ears with the tell-tale sounds of a ship at sea. Eyes focusing on the first source of movement they found, he watched as a lone pirate worked his crowbar under the lip of a large crate, prying it free from its lid before stepping aside as his Captain approached.

Pirates.

There stood the man that'd bargained for Nina, towering above the rest of his crew. He placed a foot flat to one side of wooden box and gave it a hard kick, toppling it forwards and throwing unfortunate inhabitant tumbling out onto the deck with a cry. Squinting hard at the brightness surrounding her, Nina failed to see her new Master clearly, ears swiveling in search at the sound of his approach. In one swift motion she's yanked to her feet, yelping to the pull and scrambling to hold her tail once more as her final shred of modesty.

"Someone get me a steamin' kettle," Growled her new owner, "And a barrel o' seawater. Time fer a fuckin' lesson.".

Several of his men scrambled to comply, running off in various directions to collect the items instructed, rolling an empty barrel on-deck and hauling bucketfuls of saltwater up to fill it. Once the kettle was presented to him, Doesmaga took it by the handle and shoved Nina in his general direction, before tossing the lid of the kettle over his shoulder.

"Hold'er fuckin arms back".

In one swift motion, he yanked her tail from trembling hands and held it away from her, delighted by the confusion that bled into palpable fear as he took the one comfort she'd managed to keep for herself.

"Apparently the little pussycat still thinks she's got somethin' worth hidin'," He mocked, leering at her naked form as he held fast to her tail, "Guess we gotta teach this bitch how things work 'round here!".

Vulgarity was met with open cheers from his crew, those not preoccupied with given tasks gathering around to spectate a cruelty they were permitted to participate in, given the Captain was in the mood for it. Without warning, he proceeded to tip the lid-less kettle over the end of Ninas tail, pouring its contents across helpless limb as she screamed. He let it empty slowly, just fast enough for a steady stream of agony, and continued to hold onto her tail once the kettle lay discarded.

"I catch ye with that thing between your fuckin' legs again, and ye'll be lucky if I don't use oil next time" Doesmaga scolded, dragging her towards the barrel of water and dunking her tail into the briny contents for several seconds before releasing it.

Fur fell from damaged follicles, and she wept openly for the all too familiar burning ache, limply curling her tail around one of her legs instead so as to keep it out of the way. Ah, the origin of that particular tick. How utterly depraved.

"That's what I fuckin' thought... Fast learner, this one" A hand reached over to ruffle her hair almost affectionately, the man responsible for mutilating her sauntering over to the crate she'd arrived in and turning it into a make-shift seat. "Alright boys, break'er in!".

It took the Miqo'te a second to understand what was happening, still deep in the shock of what had just been done to her tail. But once she realized the order had been given for his men to freely make use of her, Nina broke down and sobbed like a lost child. Strangers groped at her and carelessly helped themselves to whichever hole they pleased, unbothered by the way she screamed or continued to sob, or for the fact they performed these acts with the open air as witness, all while her Master watched with that same shark-like grin on his face, enjoying the squalid display of his own making.

By the time they'd eaten their fill of stolen flesh, their victim was left bruised and bloodied, covered in fluids not her own as she hiccuped and squeaked, utterly exhausted. It was only then that Doesmaga rose from his seat to approach her, lifting the battered woman by the scalp and dunking her straight into the large, cold barrel of water that'd waited for her. The temperature difference shocked her awake, aided by the sting of salt on wounded flesh, and only when he felt her struggle for air did he drag her back out and dump her to the wooden floor, coughing and gasping as she shivered.

Terrified eyes rose to meet his own as the pirate forcefully tilted her head, and it was still there. That tiny little spark that fed his hunger, her ability to feel fear. Her drive to survive. It was as she shivered in his hold and bathed him in sweet satisfaction that he leaned in and whispered;

"Ye ain't tended to me yet".

In mercifully short flashes, a season passed, small glimpses of Ninas mistreatment at the hands of Doesmaga and his crew. A second season, and the violence only intensified, cigars snuffed out against her flesh, lashes delivered for nonsensical slights. Three, four, slowly the softness cushioning her body shrunk away, as did the muscles she seldom used, oft finding herself tied into all sorts of cruel positions for the amusement of those abusing her. Some time during the seventh season, a light swelling settled in her abdomen, and Silvairre endured the sight of Doesmaga throwing her to the ground in order to kick the problem until there was no issue left to worry about. He stopped counting seasons, and presumably, Nina stopped counting, too.

Losing life she'd barely grown attached to seemed to be the final straw. No more would she squirm under their touch, or sing her screams as they played with what was, essentially, a broken toy. Necessity leads to creativity in even the cruelest of minds, and though escalation yielded some results, it was never enough for men that feasted on cruelty.

Tied to the mast with her toes an ilm from the ground, they left her to roast in the sun as they worked. Missing various nails from her hands and feet, she allowed bound limbs to simply hang, unwilling to attempt to ease strain from swollen joints. One of the crews fishermen knocked over a barrel with the days catch, sending a small wave of water across the deck and carrying with it a small mountain of flopping fish, all desperate to leap free and return to the ocean.

Closest to Nina slid a single dead fish, eyes empty and body limp as the water carried it into her field of view. She stared at it, deaf to the scrambling of those around her as they fussed over recovering the catch, finding a strange sense of kinship with the creature as it simply stared, lacking reason to thrash anymore.

"Ah... That's me".

It was a quiet thought, yet Silvairre heard it clearly, much as he had every other fleeting thought or emotion relevant to this nightmare.

One final shift brought Silvairre further into the ship, the organized chaos of battle echoing from outside, followed by silence. Distant yelling, familiar voices, and yet his own eyes were trapped in complete darkness. Until the scratching of a small paw against wood caught his ear, and a voice he recognized well spoke up behind him.

"What is it buddy? Something in here?".

A door creaked open, allowing dim light to slowly flood the room, blue Carbunkle glowing brightly against what natural light failed to provide. A figure stepped into view- Ardbert, dressed more like a mage than an archer, grimoire in hand as he followed the summoned creature further into the dregs of the ship. Blue light met a figure laying still upon the floor, arms bound tightly behind her back and bare as the day she was born. Damaged beyond what was likely survivable, the Hyur still rushed to kneel beside her, pulling a fishermans knife from his pocket and slicing her arms free while attempting to rouse her.

"Holy- Hey, hey you alive?" He asked, hesitating to touch her once done with initial task.

Glancing around for a moment, he seemed to make up his mind, flipping through the pages of his tome to a specific series of glyphs and allowing his aether to flow through them, hand held over the Miqo'te almost hopefully. If she was dead, it simply wouldn't work. If she was alive? Well, no time to waste. Green wisps of energy enveloped her at his command, visible wounds diminishing in number as he helped accelerate the healing process, and a shaky breath was the reward for his efforts. Satisfied that he'd done what he could, the Hyur spoke soft assurances of safety as he removed the outer layer of his Arcanist robes, bundling her up in them before rushing for the stairs, Carbunkle lighting the way as he called out.

"Hey, guys?! I uhh- I think I'm gonna need that potion after all!".

Warmths slow return to incorporeal limbs left Silvairre disoriented for but a moment, before all of the sensations he'd been unable to process as an unwilling spectator crashed into him with a vengeance. Immediately, any meal he'd eaten that day was lost to the woods as he leaned against the nearest tree, vaguely aware of Leihs voice behind him as he grappled with the over-stimulation. No, he needed out, away, now, and so he turned for home despite spitting bitter venom over his shoulder at appropriately voiced concern, despite the mission he'd long forgotten about as he processed all that had happened in an instant.

Was it simply a foul trick? Some kind of horrid joke being played on him by an outsider with foreign magicks? The idea appealed far more than the truth, and so he clung to it as long legs carried him home as fast as they could without sprinting, lest he succumb again to the vertigo that begged him to lay down. And lay down he did, as soon as the door closed behind him, simply sliding down the wall beside it and breathing heavily as he attempted to collect himself and calm down. Sweat cooled, and it stuck to him like a thin sheen of disgust that he needed to rinse away.

Yes, a shower. A shower, and then he could do his best to forget about this. All of this. Memory or not he wanted no part in it, the forceful way it was thrust into his mind leaving him feeling... Violated.

He shuddered.

For now? He just needed to forget. And to feel squarely within his own flesh once more.

Chapter Text

For a full moon, Silvairre made no secret of the fact that he wished to avoid Ardbert. Never before had he let someone else's presence drive him from the guildhall, and yet every time the Hyur popped his head in for so much as a passing pleasantry, the discomfort in his gut had prompted unannounced exit. Miraculously, Aliapoh had so far held her tongue on the matter, even if her face held clear intent to pry.

Some days he'd found himself wandering the woods under the guise of "Patrolling", others he merely made the trip to one of his old practice sites, taking bittersweet comfort in how easily he hit makeshift targets that seemed impossible as a child. Today, his feet carried him towards the Southern Shroud, whimsically deciding to hide away at the tavern in the hopes Ardbert wouldn't trek all this way just to corner him.

"Afternoon, lad!" Buscarron greeted from behind the counter, "Where's yer shadow?".

His shadow? Oh- Right, these days if he passed through, it was exclusively for one of Nina's deliveries. Sitting himself down at the very end of the counter, he pretended not to notice the pleasant surprise that curled one side of Buscarron's mouth, removing his hat and setting it on the surface before him.

"It's the fourth sun, I only accompany her every sixth" He clarified, scanning over the room for a moment to take note of those present, "For once, I actually am here as a customer".

"What'll it be?".

"... An ale, I suppose".

To say he didn't drink often would be an understatement, displeased by the way it robbed him of bodily control and clarity of the mind, two things he required in order to perform his art. There was a time where his unwillingness to engage in sloppy drunken antics was the trait most teased by those around him- An odd thing to miss, in hindsight. A single sip met his lips, and after several long seconds of silence, Silvairre turned his eyes to the looming bartender.

"Can I help you?".

"Funny, I was just 'bout ta ask the same thing" He chortled in response, resting his forearms across the counter and leaning a little closer. "What's got ya worked up enough ta wander out here fer a pint? Somethin's tellin' me what ya really need's a friend".

He couldn't help it, the bitter huff had left his nose before it could be stopped, and Buscarron took that as further evidence he was right.

"I'm listenin', take yer time".

"It's not exactly your business...".

"So there is somethin' ta talk about, I knew it".

What was it with people picking his words apart lately? The Elezen groaned in frustration, hiding his face behind another slow sip as he thought on the best way to deflect. Instead, a question came to mind, one that'd eaten at him ever since that horrific assault on his senses. He couldn't bring himself to ask the man responsible, but if anyone would've heard rumors about such magicks in passing, Buscarron was the right man to ask.

"Have you ever heard talk of... Glamors, perhaps, but for the mind as a whole?".

"What, ya mean like a vision or somethin'?".

"In a sense. Ones specifically inflicted as opposed to gleamed by a listener or other such aetherically attuned person".

Taking the query seriously, Buscarron hummed as he scratched at his stubble, mulling over all kinds of nonsensical stories he'd heard over the years in search of a concise answer.

"Well, unless ya mean some kinda drug induced freak-out, I can't really put me finger on anythin'. The ol' link-shell system's just a way ta manage communications, 'nd most complex glamors involve makin' one thing look like somethin' it ain't. The senses ain't so easily fooled either, if'n it were some kinda trick of the mind? Well that'd take a real powerful mage'a some kind, I reckon.

"So the more 'Put together' the vision, the more likely it is to be..." No, it still didn't make sense, actually.

"A memory? I'm no mage but that'd be me best guess. Don't gotta make up all them tiny details if they're already in yer head".

Silvairre's face scrunched into a scowl at that, as if he'd rather Buscarron had held his tongue, and the older man eyed him curiously as he tried to pick apart the problem.

"Yes, well, as you said yourself- Such things are unheard of, as I expected." The curt response is punctuated with a large sip, an attempt to convince himself it was all just a sour trick to make mockery of him.

"What'd ya see?".

Silence.

"Silvairre? Ya still in there, lad?".

"Things I did not wish to be privy to, particularly in such... detail." He finally relented, exhausted after weeks of waking up drenched in sweat and with dread in his stomach.

His companion gave a hum of acknowledgement, placing firm hand atop the young archers' shoulder to deliver a comforting pat. At first he'd expected further prying, to have details pulled from him slowly until he was forced to face it all again in vivid detail to satiate another person's curiosity. Yet, Buscarron seemed content with the admittance that he really had been subject to some rare form of magick, and that what he'd been forced to see led him to the bottle in the hopes of forgetting.

It felt strangely comforting, to have his plight acknowledged without incessant pestering, hand at his shoulder offering a solid squeeze of reassurance before retracting. Silvairre chanced a glance at unexpected support, and found the older man already turning away to tend to used mugs and thirsty customers.

"... Thank you, Buscarron." The Elezen sighed.

"It ain't ever a problem, lad. Yer always welcome 'ere".

In days following, the problem seemed to evaporate on it's own as neither hair nor hide of Ardbert or Leih deigned to pass through the guild's doors. A welcomed respite, though the part of him buried deep that claimed he was worried for them did it's best to be heard. It would have to content itself with being ignored.

Unexpected company still arrived, however, as pastel pink entered his field of view. Nina offered a little wave from near guildhall's entrance, and much the same as passing waves in rare public meetings, Silvairre lifted a hand of his own in acknowledgement. Basket in hand she scurried over, and he tilted his head lightly in confusion- Had he forgotten what day it was?

"...'Tis the second sun, is it not?".

Surprise visitor nodded, settling her basket atop one of the benches near the wall in order to retrieve precious cargo, a smaller basket ever so carefully lifted and offered out to him. Covered in cloth and with contents further cushioned between layers, it was smell that served to identify them first, a dozen small blood currant tarts filling the space with an appetizing sweetness, yet just bitter enough to wet the tongue. Silvairre found himself blinking down at the offering in silence, unaccustomed to receiving gifts, uncertain they were really for him.

"Ah- For the guild, I take it?" It would be best to clarify.

"N-no, they're for you" Apprehensive of those around them, her answer came quietly. "We made enough to share".

"Oh..." Was all he could manage at first, ill prepared to be on the receiving end, "I- That's very kind, thank you".

"You're welcome".

Awkwardly bringing his hands to claim the basket, he noted the way her eyes lit up at his acceptance, and despite lack of a smile could've sworn she seemed happier than when she'd entered. Continuing to watch in silence as she re-fastened her baskets lid, he became acutely aware that all eyes were glued to him, just waiting to pounce like ravenous mitelings in search of gossip. Unwilling to engage with it, he nestled the little basket in one arm and offered his best attempt at casual social interaction.

"Is there... Anything you require assistance with? A chaperone home, perhaps?".

"But, it's not the sixth" It was her turn to seem confused.

"Perhaps, but I find myself in need of some fresh air" A partial truth, which prying eyes picked up on as he tapped free finger to his chin.

Content with his mediocre reasoning, Nina seemed almost as eager to depart as he did, and only once they'd left the guild behind them did her fur settle smooth.

"If you're uncomfortable with the guildhall, why come all this way for the sake of a few pastries?".

"Well, they're for you and- I don't know where you live, and places like that scare me but... I like you more than how much they frighten me" Clearly, she'd mulled over it enough before deciding to seek him out.

Hearing her openly state such left Silvairre feeling... He wasn't sure. Yes, he knew from her behavior that the beast trusted him to bring her no harm, but complacency and preference were different, and not once had he stopped to consider she'd grown to enjoy his company- Beyond necessity, of course. Fumbling for a response, he choked out an ill planned;

"I see, well, my home is within walking distance- If you'd care to know it" That sounded like an invitation, had he meant it as an invitation? Absolutely not Gods have mercy don't-.

"Oh- Is that okay?".

No, of course not, don't be daft-.

"If it were not, I wouldn't have offered.".

It was too late to back out. Watching her stare up at him curiously, ears perked, he knew nipping this in the bud would leave him feeling like a right arse.

Then again, it wasn't as if he cared for her feelings. Yes, her safety was his priority near week's end and yes, he was aware of the vile deeds she'd endured- If Ardbert's trick held any truth. That did not mean he personally cared for her happiness, or lack thereof.

Immediately challenging that notion, Nina offered him her first smile in years, small and nervous but with eyes brighter than he'd ever seen them as she gently took hold of his free arm.

"Then, y-yes please, I'd love to see your home".

What started with a single visit quickly became routine, spare produce and meals often greeting Silvairre alongside the small woman who'd resolved to share, filling his pantry with foods he might've never bothered stocking on his own. Not to say he ate poorly, but variety was not his specialty and half the things she provided required at least a recipe for him to make use of, lest the gift go to waste. A burden, he'd attempted to call it, failing when his half decent concoctions tasted all the better because she'd thought to include him.

On the most sacrilegious of occasions, when she'd nowhere to be and he'd yet to eat, Nina would offer to cook things herself. It was on these days, where she employed basic culinary skills imparted by her grandmother to prepare him a meal in his own home, that an ache he'd long learned to ignore found itself soothed. Something so simple as the company of another, conversing about nonsense or existing in silence while sounds and smells whetted the appetite... A comfort foolishly taken for granted in his younger years. Most of their conversations may have been one sided delves into aspects of Gridanian culture or his own personal interests, but she asked questions where relevant, and seemed more than happy to listen.

Comfortable when it was just the two of them, he'd spy her tail swishing about the kitchen floor, free from the leg it oft clung to out of habit. The turtlenecks she hid under would find themselves abandoned as well once closed door provided privacy, and watching her harsher injuries fading to pink and silver scars came with it's own strange sense of reassurance. The knowledge that regardless of what may or may not have happened, she was being cared for well enough to heal.

No longer able to continue blatant lie, the Elezen came to realize he'd befriended the small woman. A very skittish and socially inept one, and of the lesser races at that- But a friend none the less. Open admission was out of the question, but neither she nor her overbearing matriarch asked for such, and he'd no others close enough to come prying for details beyond an initial attempt in passing. Within a week, the vultures had lost interest, flocking toward the next source of idle chatter that piqued their interest as "Silvairre spends time with someone outside of the guild" Became little more than passively observed fact.

Rumors were among his least favorite ways of receiving important news, and so hushed whispers of the Twin Adders simply dismissing the threat Pawah posed had a near visceral effect on the young archer. Assured by Luciane that they would continue to work towards capturing her, Silvairre was left antsy in his boots, eager to see this ordeal over with and either prove his worth to the people that shunned him, or die trying and prove unwavering loyalty to the cause.

Even she held her reservations, however, slow to respond in the face of sightings and insistent they wait for back up. Nonsense, he would not have it.

In a moment of guilt fueled blindness, he'd chosen to pursue her against Luciane's orders, accepting that he may have to leave the guild for good in order to see Pawah brought to justice. Little else mattered to him in that moment, stalwart in his loyalty towards the nation he called home, and in his determination to make up for past mishaps. Not expecting anyone to stand in his way, Ardbert and Leih's attempt to assist him had almost shocked sense back into the Elezen, their desperate plea to be allowed to help as his friends simply tightening the knot in his throat.

"... I have never considered you my friends. Do not follow me."

Body language betrayed his lies as it often did, bringing the friends he'd denounced rushing to his side as he sat hunched over fresh injury, just as foolish as he was on the day he'd let Pawah slip through his fingers. In all of his eagerness, he'd fallen into a trap.

For the first time, he watched helplessly as Leih tore into his pride with full agency to do so, laying out how well she could pick apart his lies and scolding him for attempting to push others away in order to spare them a share of his burden. She knew how he thought, understood how he felt, and even if he'd done his hardest to treat her like muck upon his shoe and usher her away from him, she saw through to the root cause of his abrasiveness and understood that he'd cared all along- In his own strange way.

Ardbert remained miraculously silent and allowed the Miqo'te to speak, aware of the awkward air between them and insisting only on providing the Elezen with first aid to get him back on his feet. It was in that moment of intimacy that their eyes met, and the usually cheery man offered a serious "She's right, you know." Before continuing to deftly pack and wrap each bleeding wound as best he could over layers of clothing. No frustration manifested through his care, touch tender with whispered apologies for necessary pressure.

Alright, as a team... No. As friends. Leih still required his help to master her form, anyways.

Entrusting them with the whistle he'd plucked from one of myriad attackers, Silvairre allowed himself to rely upon the skills of others, joining them to see the task through rather than simply enduring their presence. Teamwork yielded the ultimate prize, and as they hauled a still breathing Pawah Mujuuk homewards so she may pay for her crimes against the Twelveswood, he found himself smiling to the sound of his junior's outpouring of joy.

Later, in the privacy of his own home, adrenaline finally abandoned him. Initially intending to properly clean and tend to injuries he'd insisted were trivial to someone with his experience, Silvairre now sat at his small table with one arm laid atop, slouched forwards to rest his cheek upon the cool wood. Ah, perhaps he could just rest for a while and tend to himself once strength returned? He was smart enough to know it unwise, but tired enough to consider it viable.

Soft knocking jolted him awake, and the question of who would be at his doorstep as dusk drew near answered itself. Only one person ever really knocked on his door, taps so light they may be missed without keen ears. Dragging himself from the table, he blinked back the haze that clung to tired eyes and opened the door to greet unexpected guest, frowning at the sight of Nina in tears and without her usual outdoor attire.

"In you go," He more-so welcomed than ordered, stepping back to allow her past, "Be seated and I'll fetch something to drink. Are you hurt?".

Doing as she was told, distressed friend shook her head no and sat herself down at the table, a sniffle startling her to the smell of blood both fresh and clotted. Hopping off of the too-tall chair, she followed after him, wiping tears out of her eyes in order to get a proper look. Tiny hands grabbed him by the hip and turned the Elezen to face her, his arms raised out of the way with coffee grinds and empty pot filling his hands.

"What-".

"You're hurt" She almost accused, as if mad he'd ask of her condition without caring for his own, whatever problem sent her to his door forgotten for the time being.

"A natural part of the job, I'm afraid. I assure you it's..." Still sniffling, she glared up at him, daring him to lie. It was the first time she'd appeared even remotely cross with him, and he sighed while abandoning unmade drinks to the counter-top. "Alright, I will admit it isn't fine. In my own defense, I'd intended to perform proper care after some rest".

Nina pulled, and he acquiesced to the tug upon torn tunic, allowing her to essentially drag him towards the table and sit him down. Apparently she did have it in her to be bossy, even if harmless in her attempts. Glancing about in search of something, she sniffled again and asked;

"Do you have- Umm, what do you use? And where is it?".

"Salves and bandages, mainly. What, do you intend to play chirurgeon?" Attempted jest fell flat, and with another sigh he relented, "They are in the washroom cupboard, packed into a leather bag".

On a mission, she left in search of his medical supplies, Hefting the large bag atop kitchen table and turning to fetch a bowl of warm water and clean rags- Those she at least knew where to find. She then stood in front of him expectantly, only to pull the bowl away from him when he reached for it.

"Nina, I'm capable of tending to myself".

"Then why did you say you were going to rest first?".

Grizzling in defeat, he began to peel off mucked clothing, depositing it all upon the empty chair beside him as he went until cool air goosed bare chest.

"Are you even familiar with how to use such supplies?".

"My first Master had someone that, umm, he came and made sure I was healthy sometimes," She started, soaking a rag, "And if someone- If I was badly hurt, he would tend to me and make sure it would heal okay so... I think I remember how?".

"Oh- and slap some salve on her cheek while you're at it. The doc's still out but I want that brand healing nice and clean..."

Sucking in a hiss as injury's sting snapped him back to attention, he glanced down to see Nina carefully cleaning arrow's graze across his forearm. She shot him an apologetic look, Ardbert's wrappings now discarded to the floor and thoroughly dyed with blood. He'd shed it in defense of his home, there was no shame in that. Quietly she worked, wiping blood and grime from wounds that threatened to reopen if he coughed, fingers warm against skin that lay clammy and cooling.

"What brought you here?" He finally asked, killing the silence between them.

"... My grandmother told me, if I want to use my name then, then I'm never going to be her granddaughter again because I'm-" Ears that held high as she focused slowly sagged once more, but she kept to volunteered task. "She says it means I'm not trying hard enough to get better, because it's the name 'they' gave me and it wasn't given by my family. But it's my name".

"And she threw you from the house for such a thing?".

"She said she knows what's best for her family and, the only Keepers that don't listen to their mothers and grandmothers aren't fit to be called Keepers anymore..." Pausing to wipe insistent tears with the back of her hand, she added, "And, if I wasn't part of the Nelbah family anymore then I was just- I'm a stranger in her house".

Sniffling softly through remainder of her task as fresh poultice packed wounds too deep for a coating of salve, Silvairre simply watched her work, uncertain why she came here of all places but- Loathe to admit- Enjoying the attention she offered him, the care he needn't even ask for. It made him feel valued.

"I know it's selfish- Coming here I mean," She rose to tidy bloodied mess, and he arched a brow for her to continue. "I just... Wanted to feel safe, I'm sorry".

He watched her dispose of old bandages and neatly replace supplies where they belonged, a strange sensation welling at admission that she came to him for safety. At her return from the washroom, he tentatively reached for her hand and pulled the Miqo'te towards him, careful to maintain loose enough grip that she could pull back at slightest hesitation. Curiosity met him as she complied, and he brought calloused palms up to rest on wet cheeks, thumbs wiping away at residual tears.

"Do not be sorry, I'm relieved you chose to come here rather than simply running off into the woods, especially without your warmer attire".

Watching closely for signs that friendly gesture was unwelcome, he was surprised to find instead that she leaned into his touch, sniffling again as reassurance brought the last of her tears from between closed eyelids. Oh how empowering to be so trusted by the powerless, how sweet to be the source of safety for someone else.

"Have you at least had supper?" She asked after a moment of silent indulgence.

"No, I'm afraid I hadn't the chance to make something yet".

Gently coaxing his hands from her face, she held both larger ones between her own for a moment and leaned forward to rub the tip of her nose upon sweat-smeared forehead. A small gesture of affection in return for his own, before letting go in favor of rummaging through the kitchen.

"Hmm, cabbage... Eggplant... Oh! You still have some of the chantarelles, too- Do you have any eggs? I could make an omelette, or a stir-fry if you don't?".

"Frankly, an omelette sounds wonderful right now. I believe they're in the cooler, I didn't want to waste them".

With bellies filled and dishes soaking for a scrub on the morrow, Silvairre procured his spare blankets in order to set up sudden house-guest for bed, small as she was that the couch held ample room. With a cushion in place of proper pillow, he felt guilty not giving her his bed, but she'd insisted an injured man was in no form to argue over sleeping arrangements. Besides, she'd said, even the floor would've counted for a kindness.

Dumping blankets atop her head to contest that, he watched her partially wriggle out from under them and form a cocoon of fabric, happily laying herself down with passing comment that they carried a pleasant scent. He'd asked what exactly they smelled of, considering they hadn't been shaken out in a couple of moons, and made motion to switch off the hanging lanterns illuminating his home.

"They smell like you".

Utterly flustered by such a response, he stammered through a generic one of his own and made quick work of night's parting words, retreating to his bedroom in search of rest so desperately needed.

Chapter Text

Silvairre awoke to the appetizing smell of breakfast, sizzling tomato and bacon beckoning him from the room as he groggily rolled to his feet. Poultices and potions of the Twelveswood may be wondrously helpful, but the accelerated healing process still left one in dire need of rest.

Swishing about in the kitchen, Nina busied herself juggling toast, skillet and coffee pot, ears twitching upright at the scuff of her host's feet.

"I didn't take you for an early riser" Came sleep laden comment, Silvairre slipping himself into preferred chair.

"Good morning! I have to go see Fufucha, but, I wanted to leave breakfast for when you woke up. If I didn't need to get up, I'd probably sleep forever".

Singular meal was plated and served, and he shot her a confused frown as she quickly washed up. Did she not think him willing to share? He'd watched her cook for the both of them before.

"You won't be joining me?".

"Oh-" Drying her hands, she returned with his coffee, "I would, I just... Want to talk to Fufucha first. I think if I eat something now, it might not stay down".

"Mm. Are you concerned she may evict you from the Botanist's guild over your grandmother's rejection?" Watching as her ears tilted in thought, lower half of her tail lightly lashing, he knew his guess to be correct.

Merely nodding as fingers interlaced to fiddle with each other, she remained still and silent with unasked question on her tongue, until he cleared his throat to coax it forth.

"Do... You think it's okay? If I go out l-like this?".

Oh, right. She'd arrived upon his doorstep in one of her lightly ruffled sun dresses, modest to the knees and perfectly acceptable, though it did little to hide the slowly fading scars littering her limbs. They would likely never fade in full, ever present as fodder for curious onlookers, and with her trepidation in the face of most social contact he doubted prying questions would be well received.

"Well, It's certainly an appropriate state of dress, though I take it that's not your problem." She nodded. "Perhaps, I could loan you one of my undershirts? 'Twould be rather large on you, but at least your arms would be well covered".

And thus Silvairre found himself rolling up the sleeves of his own shirt to free buried hands, a belt loaned to gather low-hanging fabric high upon her waist and folding the garment to size. Gripping the thick-rolled cuffs in her palms, Nina held them up to her face and sighed happily, prior panic calmed to a simmer as he watched her take comfort in his scent.

How utterly embarrassing.

She'd departed with promise to return borrowed shirt at day's end, and though he felt guilty for not accompanying her as was likely proper, the meal she'd served beckoned healing hunger back to the table with a vengeance.

No sooner was he done with morning's dishes did there come a firm knock to his door, certainly not a sign of smaller friend and drawing an exhausted sigh at the prospect of dealing with unwelcome visitors. Still in his night things he cracked open the door, face scrunching into visible cringe at the sight of Ardbert raising a hand in silent greeting.

"Ahem. Err, good morning. If this is about my presence at the guild, please know I simply took the day to rest".

"Actually, I was wondering... Can we talk?".

Gods no.

"Of course." How traitorous his mouth could be.

Allowing the Hyur into his home, he followed awkwardly as recently accepted friend plopped himself down on the couch. The other man immediately took notice of neatly folded blankets, and with honest concern on his face he asked;

"Sleeping on the couch? Are you struggling to breathe or something? I'm sorry if I missed a wound that deep, I thought I'd-"

"It's nothing of the sort, I simply had a guest spend the night".

"Oh-" An awkward suck of his teeth, "Well umm, I'm glad you had someone to keep an eye on you".

Sitting himself beside Ardbert in one slow, careful motion, Silvairre fails to find an appropriate response, eyes glued to his small coffee table as he waits for overdue conversation to finally start.

"So... I uhh, none of that was on purpose".

"None of what, exactly?".

"You know-" A pained grimace crossed the Hyur's face, doing his best to be vague, "The memories. They're not... I don't really control what I see, or when I see it. Didn't know it could force other people to see the things I did, either".

"So they are memories, then." Exactly what he didn't want to hear, but a truth he couldn't continue to ignore.

"Yeah, it's like watching an event as a bystander instead of through someone's eyes- I mean, I presume that's how it was for you, too? I didn't get the chance to ask".

Placing elbows upon his knees, Silvairre interlaced his fingers and shifted his weight forwards, nose touching knuckles gripped white. For a moment he said nothing, simply processing the fact that everything he'd seen, heard, smelled, each horrid ilm of it had been real- Just as Buscarron suggested.

"I don't actually know what it showed you, if I'm honest" Ardbert continued after extended silence, "It's been eating at me for a while now, but I get that you didn't want to be around me. Hells, I probably seemed like a bit of a freak".

"You did. I thought you'd cursed me with some form of foreign magick" The Elezen dryly admitted, earning an equally dry bark of laughter.

"Well you're not wrong, sure does feel like a curse sometimes...".

Ah, so it was a burden to him, as well. Except in his case, the disquieting shift in reality wasn't a one off occurrence.

"I saw... A myriad things." Silvairre finally relented, swallowing the lump of building disgust in his throat before continuing, "I saw her, young and unaware of herself, being... Acquired by foul individuals. Her incarceration, her... assault. I witnessed as another came to purchase her, before slowly whittling down her will to live through repeated horrors I frankly don't wish to remember in detail" Words spilled forth before he'd really thought them through, and he realized how heavy a weight silence truly was.

"Did you... see the fish?".

Silvairre merely nodded.

"I'm sorry" He meant it. That much was obvious.

"I also saw you, however." The man beside him flinched lightly, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end. "You were clothed in the garbs of a mage, with a carbuncle at your side. How come you never spoke up about your involvement? I watched you tend to and retrieve her from the bowels of that ship, yet you never spoke a word of it".

"Ugh, guess now I know how that feels..." He groaned, flustered at the thought of his own actions being seen, "And well, it didn't really matter if I was there or not. She was scared, too disconnected to really interact with, just doing what the chirurgeons told her to and startling like a hurt animal at any kind of contact. Took a whole moon before she was up and walking again, but every second person in Limsa is a Seawolf. I guess, it was just hard for her to make any progress when half the faces around her sent her right back to that ship, not to mention her fear of men in general. All I did was get her out of there, everyone else took care of her until she was well enough to come home".

"I see." How very modest, almost annoyingly so. "And you're sure this is her home? I've had my doubts for some time now, given her inability to recall a single thing".

"I'm sure. I asked some friends in the Maelstrom to see what they could do, and they combed through missing persons reports from the battle of Carteneau until they found a match. Birthmarks are actually surprisingly useful for identifying someone. That whole memory thing isn't exclusive to her though- Apparently some people forgot more than others".

Allowing tension to escape him with a sigh, the Elezen shut tired eyes and bid thoughts of Madam Nelbah's ulterior motives slip from his mind. Overbearing as she may be, the old woman really was Nina's grandmother, desperate for her kin to remember what was lost.

"I've been a right arse, haven't I..."

The admission took Ardbert by surprise, and he awkwardly scratched at his neck for a moment while mulling over how to respond. Ah, to hell with it, honesty was probably for the best.

"Yeah... Yeah. Kind of ginormous, actually" Unable to stop himself, he added, "The biggest archery butt".

"Stop that, I am trying to show remorse" Silvairre half scolded after snorting in response.

"I can't help it! That joke's been waiting to make itself for moons!".

Finally able to relax and laugh in the presence of one of his few genuine friends, Silvairre found himself grateful for the unimaginable amount of patience Ardbert seemed to possess, so quick to forgive and turn past slights to humor, merely happy his care was accepted. Others likely wouldn't be so receptive, nor did he think he was capable yet of reaching out to make the many amends duly owed, but with people like the stupidly charismatic man next to him? Well, he certainly wouldn't be alone.

Well into the evening, that familiar soft knocking jostles Silvairre from his half slumber upon the couch, book resting open across his lap and long since turned from the correct page. Rising a little too quickly with present state in mind, he finds a foreign anxiety twisting within his belly as the handle meets his hand. Ah... Yes, empathy. That's the word for it. Quashing it down, he opens the door in full to welcome Nina inside, pausing mid-greeting at the sight of new attire and a basket-full of assorted goods, backpack snugly mounted behind her.

"Welcome- Oh? I was beginning to wonder where you'd run off to. Seems all went well?".

Smiling up at him, she gave an eager nod before scurrying inside, quick to begin organizing her haul like some kind of squirrel or marmot. Firstly retrieved were the shirt and belt he'd lent her, neatly folded and looped as if she hadn't worn them just that morning, placed almost reverently upon the kitchen table.

"Fufucha said, it doesn't matter what my grandmother does o-or doesn't say, I'm still welcome to work with the Botanists. She sent Cicely with me to the markets, to make sure I found proper gear for myself".

"She treated you to a shopping spree, it seems" Tired eyes scanned over the myriad little parcels as she fussed over them.

"Oh- No, umm, my grandmother never collected my pay from the guild. I didn't know I was being paid, but Fufucha kept it all aside for me, she said even if my grandmother didn't want or need it, it would be rude to give it away before giving me a say in it" Her tail flickers behind her, visibly vexed by agency willingly kept from her, but too nervous to let such thoughts simmer.

"Your grandmother withheld your pay?".

"I don't think she meant anything terrible by it! I... Think she just wanted me to rely on her, she always tried to do things for me and said I didn't have to worry anymore".

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Silvairre moved to collect returned clothing, continuing the conversation as he moved through his home.

"Good intentions or not, that's hardly the way to help someone adjust. I take it you've been paid in full, then?".

"Mhm, Most of it's stored with the guild's retainers though, Cicely said it was safer that way. She's... Nice, I think. I know where to get all of my things now, if I ever need to replace them." Fishing through her backpack for a moment, she pulls out a collapsible hatchet, holding the tool up proudly as something earned. "It's not big enough for a lot of lumber work, but I can fill orders for branches with it!".

Poking his head back through to house's front half, Silvairre watched her carefully tucking the sharp implement back into her pack, safely folded to avoid unwanted shredding. And to think, when first they'd met, a small knife had given her trouble.

"I also got you some things- So I can make you dinner before I go. Do you like lentils? They're full of iron, and you were bleeding yesterday so I thought they might help".

Pouring through words at a malm a minute, was she always this talkative? It was as if her tiny stature held too many thoughts all at once, simply unable to contain them once within a space of safety. He had to admit, it was almost endearing to see her prattle on about the day she'd had and the ways others had stepped in to help her.

Wait, before she goes?

... She'd bought something for him?

"I- Seeing as I've never chanced to try them, I can only say I'm grateful for the gesture. You aren't under the impression I wish you gone though, are you? While I feel inadequate with simply providing a couch, it's certainly there to be used".

Was he trying to convince her to stay? No, he was just trying to be nice to her, surely it wouldn't be proper to grow so attached to household company. All she'd done was spend the night for Twelve's sake.

Well, and tended to him. And fed him, twice for that matter.

"It's a really nice couch, I promise-" What a strange thing to focus on, "But I don't want to use all of your space, it's not fair. At the guild, they said the Carline Canopy is a good place to stay- Until I find somewhere for just me".

"And you're alright with all of this? It's a rather sudden change...".

The pep with which she'd arrived slowly wafted into nothing, ears lowering as the Miqo'te practically deflated before him.

"It's... Scary. I know lots of people deal with things like this, but I'm scared. I'm scared I'll do or say something wrong and, just, I know you're safe, and there's people who've been really nice to me- Like all of the Botanists, and Buscarron," She paused, hands reaching for the chord tying the front of newly purchased work-tunic shut and fiddling nervously, "I don't... Want to be owned again. Doing things for me, things I'm not allowed, it feels like I'm just waiting until someone gets angry" It was the first time she'd admitted as much with words.

Awkward as it felt to see her crumble under his question, there were more pressing sensations fueling his response, unaccustomed to offering comfort but aware she stood here in dire need of whatever reassurance he could provide. Moving from his spot at hallway's entry, Silvairre made his way towards the couch once more, settling upon it sideways with one leg bend before him. A quiet pat of invitation to the empty space in front of him bid she join, and ever obedient she did with mimicked position, shorter legs crossed fully upon last night's bed.

"To be so scared is understandable, I think. You know nothing, not the people, nor their history beyond what little you've learned." A poor start so far, as stated by ears fully drooped. "However, I feel it's important for you to hear that no one is allowed to harm you. It does not matter if they believe themselves superior, or believe you have somehow offended them. While there are those who break our rules, Gridanians are peaceful by nature- We do not enjoy acts of war or violence. Those that do are outliers and the good people around you will act in part as a buffer against such malarkey".

"L-like you?" Tone hopeful, she met his gaze with a combination of apprehension and her own desire to trust.

"I suppose that is an appropriate example, yes. Like me. I am aware that the horrors others subjected you to are just that- Horrors, things no soul should wish to partake in. No one owns another person, nor do they have the right to take anything that isn't offered freely".

Shame pinked her cheeks at proper mention of prior treatment, no longer able to hold his gaze and dipping it to shaking fingers instead. One hand raised to brush gloved finger tips against owner's brand, as if she'd hoped by some miracle, it would be gone from her flesh.

"I don't want to go back" She squeaked, a choked plea.

"Nina," His own tone quietened, perhaps not the most comforting but he was doing his best, "It's alright. No one can blame you for being afraid, but that fear should not stop you from living." Reaching slowly for the hand she'd lifted, he pulled off the thick harvesting glove that covered half her forearm, and slipped a thumb below sleeve's edge to rub across healing scars. "Let these be the only shackles that remain. Visible, but unable to hold you in place as they are wrote of your own flesh".

Crinkling her face in an effort not to cry, Nina gave a series of small but eager nods, making no attempt to pull away from clumsy gesture. Weepy, she reached free hand forwards in search of his night shirt, giving gentlest tug. An unspoken request. For all his skill in predicting an enemy's actions at the barest twitch of a finger, it took the Elezen several ticks to realize her intent.

Leaning forwards, he slid his hand free of her sleeve in favor of placing both upon her shoulders, gently guiding her into the hug she dare not ask for out loud.

"How about this. Since you're so kind as to be providing for me while I recover, it's more than reasonable you be welcome to spend another night. Tomorrow, if you'd like, I can accompany you to the Canopy and see you safely set up with your new room. Is this well with you?".

Smaller arms wrapped themselves around his middle, and as he returned the motion with his own at upper and lower back respectively, Silvairre felt the rub of her cheek against his chest, fears slowly eased with shared warmth to promise her safety. Here she was, requesting that which he'd felt guilty for craving in storm's aftermath. Desiring his company, his comfort.

"Okay".

Allowing his own face to nestle into soft strands of pink, he closed his eyes, wondering idly if she'd done the same for full enjoyment. There was time, 'twas still a touch early for supper, anyways.

Chapter Text

No longer than a day after settling Nina into her temporary abode had Luciane approached Silvairre with a conflicted grimace upon elegant face, informing him with clear regret in her tone that Madam Nelbah no longer wished for his services. There was no longer a job to be done every sixth sun, his weekends were finally free after more than half a turn.

Surprising the guild master, he'd admitted to expecting as much, offering only the vaguest explanation of recent happenings in oft employed avoidance of gossip. For a long moment she seemed lost in thought, gaze fixed intently on his own until steely eyes veered off awkwardly, aware she was attempting to fish deeper details up to meet surface summary. He refused to indulge her.

Leih, however, would not be satisfied with only a vague understanding, and emboldened by their mutual admittance of friendship she pursued the truth relentlessly until he wore down. Ah, that's right, most Keepers were hunters after all, weren't they?

"You know..." She started once more, happily in-step beside him as they traversed well worn paths in search of suspicious activity, "Bertie explained his gift to me".

Silvairre's face puckered. Gods dammit Ardbert.

"He told me some things about what made you puke, and about that girl you used to guard- Not much, but, enough. She's the one you've been hanging out with, right?".

"Hanging out-" He repeated in disbelief, casual slang foreign on his tongue, "I'm not so sure I'd call it that, but we're... On friendly terms, yes. Why?" A conscious choice was made to avoid acknowledging prior incident, despite the blatant mention.

"So introduce us already! Properly, I mean" Silvairre let out a noise akin to being punched in the gut, prompting the Miqo'te to roll her eyes, "Oh come on, all three of us are your friends right? What's wrong with wanting to get to know each other?".

She... Had a point. As always, she spoke like a street urchin but her logic was sound, and Silvairre found himself confused by the conflicted feeling brought on by mental image of facilitating such a thing. He thought of doing as asked and introducing Nina to Leih, at least, assuring her the other Miqo'te was to be trusted and encouraging them to connect, picturing himself watching as they went about their business and did, well, whatever it was women did together when they "Hung out" As Leih so eloquently put it.

Oh. He was worried about becoming obsolete, being replaced by the person Nina's grandmother had intended her to connect with in the first place.

The embarrassed flush overtaking his face drew curious eyes, Leih's gloved palm coming to rest against his upper arm in silent show of support for whatever flustered him. After a moment of thought, however, her ears dipped in disappointment, and though her hand remained in place she asked an almost timid;

"You're... Not embarrassed to be seen with us, are you?". Silvairre attempted to stutter out his disagreement, "Just with me, then?".

"No." He insisted, visibly hurt not by the implication, but by his own part in convincing her it was likely. "No. Leih, I... Have not been kind to you. I know this. Frankly my concerns are far more selfish in nature, and in truth, I do not want to admit them." Forcing himself to maintain locked gaze despite the unspoken emotions dancing across that friendly round face of hers, he forced himself to at least offer honesty in regards to childish hesitation. "I'm unaccustomed to being valued. I'm... Afraid to lose that, afraid to watch her find good company in others and no longer desire mine".

Lost for words at his admission, Leih tugged at the arm her palm rested upon and came to a stop, turning him to face her properly. The awkwardness of it all finally snapped his eyes from her own, gaze veering off to some indistinct point in the underbrush as she reached for his other arm.

And then she shook him.

"Silvairre we're your friends!" Small as she was in comparison she was hardly weak, the Elezen finding himself properly rattled as tiny fists balled against his sleeves and hauled him to and fro, "You're stupid, dodo brained even, why would someone just up and leave the instant they make another friend?! That's not how it works! I wanted you to introduce us to her so we can all find things to do together. Besides, she's friends with my friend- Of course I'm curious".

Watching as his eyes returned to her own, wide and vulnerable and so full of fear beyond what he'd already acknowledged, Leih softened well meaning outrage and released his arms in favor of grasping him by the collar and pulling the taller man down towards her, clamping her own arms tightly around him once able to reach.

"Come here, you big idiot." She grizzled quietly, sighing a warm breath against his shoulder.

At first he simply allowed her to reposition him, the shock of it all rendering him silent and immobile with arms lightly raised. Slowly, tentatively, he brought them to close around her in return, feeling entirely undeserving of the gesture but so desperate to bask in it regardless, leaning his weight against her and allowing long standing walls a chance to lower.

"I'm sorry" He finally choked out, apology long overdue and hardly a start to what was owed.

"I know".

No sign of Nina on the sixth, as expected. Both of them knew the arrangement was called off.

Silvairre hadn't actually planned anything to fill newly freed time, simply leaning against the wall with arms across his chest as if waiting for prior charge to walk through the door with her supplies in-hand, bored beyond himself as he tapped impatient toes.

Alright, perhaps he should attempt to busy himself with something. Anything. There were only so many times he could walk through the same patrol routes and stare awkwardly at his colleagues within the guild as they practiced when he himself wasn't handling the bow, before it started to drive the poor man mad.

Was it driving Nina mad as well? Unlikely, on all of their excursions she'd been working, and given her newfound willingness to traipse by her lonesome along the better known paths veining the Twelveswood? She was probably a malm or two away in Gods know what direction. Or, maybe she'd simply be taking the day off? It wasn't an unfair assessment, she'd new lodgings to grow accustomed to and perhaps rearrange to her liking. Could she use a hand if nightstand or armchair proved themselves too heavy to shift?

Yes, well, that would be the friendly thing to do, wouldn't it? To offer his aid? He'd been given no new task to fill the gap, may as well do something useful...

Heading for the door in stoic silence, the way long-term acquaintances visibly relaxed at the sight of him leaving wasn't lost on hawk-honed eyes. Hadn't he proven himself, already? Brought his shame to rest with the capture of she who'd shamed him to begin with? Did they simply refuse to acknowledge it altogether? Not all were dissuaded by his presence, mulling over names and faces as he strode for the Canopy in an effort to ascertain the source of their disdain. Most of his fellow Elezen seemed indifferent, in fact the main source of hushed whispers and awkward glances were the lesser ra-.

Oh.

Well, he had been rather vocal about certain opinions, hadn't he. But he'd said and acted with such harshness in an attempt to self correct, to protect Gridania and her people from those who would sully her traditions and breach her borders. Surely such cautions were only natural of him- Perhaps they could not understand?

The visible discomfort was nothing new, though. Really he'd always assumed it to be based on tarnished reputation, the thought of them taking personal offense to statements he believed to be true and necessary hadn't factored in. Nina never seemed bothered by his open distaste for her kind... Then again, she hadn't been surrounded by much kindness, had she. To be referred to as lesser likely surpassed her definition of kind, when most of remembered history was spent enslaved.

What of Leih? She'd continued to remain by his side, comforted him over childish- selfish concerns, but if memory served she'd never been fond of the hand he dealt. Of the words he used to describe her and lessen her achievements. Savage, stray, uncivilized, wild, feral, outsider. Yet, her and Ardbert had been the only ones to really challenge him on those points, and now it seemed that perhaps they simply spoke words no one else was willing to waste breath on. Spent precious time attempting to get through to someone long after others ceased fruitlessly pestering.

For the first time since his obsession with lost honor began, Silvairre came to realize he'd made near everyone loathe his very presence. He'd spent the past few years preaching about protecting Gridania's integrity will sullying it, about caring for her citizens while leaving sour taste in every mouth that opened to argue against him. Nina was born and raised Gridanian, how many others of her kind were the same? How many excuses had he made to label anyone not of the Hyur or Elezen descent as 'outsiders'? An arse? No, that was too lenient, that implied there was humor to be found in his foolishness.

Silvairre was a fuck up.

Near dragging his steps now as he ascended familiar stairs, the Elezen hesitated outside his smaller friend's door as if a change of heart might take him. Knuckles eventually found the frame, but no Nina was there to greet him, and after an awkward moment spent lingering in case she'd been too busy to tend the door he began the walk of shame back down to the bar, mindlessly musing she might've left for the marketplace. Fruitless again, his search took him through the outskirts of what remained of Gridania's older walkways, the great winding paths of ancient stone and moss filling the air with an almost sweet scent, fresh and inviting.

Signposting signified his direction, and he found himself in unfamiliar territory as the Growery opened up before him, tucked away in it's own little quiet corner where harsher weather might spare the plants some kindness. Wary of incurring the wrath of watchful gardeners, he stuck to the path above while searching the faces of those presently tending, aware he stood out like a sore thumb as he bumbled his way around.

"You're lost like the Autumn leaves, aren't you?".

Startling stiff, Silvairre glanced down at the Lalafell addressing him, squinting as vague recognition surfaced.

"silvairre, I take it?".

"How did you-".

Giggling sweetly, she beckoned for him to follow along.

"An Elezen archer fond of puckered scowls, with an oak branch lodged a full falm up his bottom- Not my opinion of course, simply the description I was offered. My name is Fufucha, though you're likely already aware of that".

"I-" Ah, the Guildmaster. "Madam Nelbah's assessment, I presume..." He muttered, following after her as asked.

"Please think nothing of it, Rhila can be... 'Prickly' is an apt word for it, I'd say. Not uncommon for Keeper women her age, though loss sharpened her claws much as it did for many who's families were torn from them by the calamity. I do not agree with her methods at the best of times, but her love for nature and Nina alike are genuine".

With the way she spoke, Silvairre felt an uncomfortable flush reach his face, wondering just how many personal things this seemingly sweet woman intended to prattle on about, and how many of them would involve him in some manner. Rhila... Was that the old bat's name? Unlikely he'd remember it past the morrow. Entering the main guildhall at her behest, the sweet smell of flowers and all manner of herbs soothed the senses, and he watched as Fufucha toddled over to a large tray-full of tiny clay pots under glass lid, the perfect little ecosystem for germinating.

"I could use the help of a strong young man like yourself to get these little ones properly planted. They won't suffer for lack of a green thumb, all we're doing is digging a few holes and easing them in, should give you something satisfying to do until Nina returns." At his mixture of shock and embarrassment, she covered her mouth to giggle once more, endlessly amused, "I've helped many of my silent friends grow strong roots over the years, that feeling of care-born worry? I know it well. To seek her out and check is only natural, don't you think?".

Wordless and unwillingly exposed, Silvairre simply turned to do as asked, carefully lifting the glass covering off of precious cargo and following after Fufucha as she led him to their new home, arms laden with myriad other supplies. He wasn't a Botanist, gardening wasn't something he'd thought to try, but as they spaced out their spots and carefully slid fresh sprouts from pot to plot, he found it soothed the restless energy he'd held. Carefully sprinkling remaining soil around the edges and properly pushing it into place, it brought forth thoughts of what they might one day be, would they survive to full size? Would they feed Gridania's families or provide her artisans with precious materials?

"Hmm, I had a feeling you'd be well suited for this" His mostly silent companion hummed appreciatively.

"Pray tell, how so?".

"You're a provider at heart, are you not? Whether it's protection, care, harshly spat advice," He grimaced, "You wish to do things that will benefit others. I'll admit I've heard some rather colorful things about you, but you're young, there's still time to find a better outlet for your frustrations, and there's still time to find people willing to get to know whoever you become- If you do choose to better yourself".

"I'm not so sure how that translates to gardening, Ma'am..." She sounded like his mother.

"Oh please, 'Fufucha' is fine. And I've watched you tuck each little sprout into the earth as if they were your own children headed for bed, those aren't hands that carelessly neglect nature- You never even wondered aloud what the plants themselves might be".

"Yes- Well- Gridania is my home..." This was an odd combination of awkward and assuring. "The forest deserves respect within the city walls much the same as beyond".

A soft, contented smile graced Fufucha's face, aimed unabashedly at the Elezen hunkered over his next hole. Good Gods, this sweet woman could tame any beast with a grin.

"I, too, love the forest very much. There's good in you yet, young one".

Orange skies met steely eyes as their task drew to an end, supplies shook free of loose soul and returned to appropriate storage within the guild's hall. Idle chatter filled its walls as others followed suit, eventually joined by a small flash of pink as Nina entered with larger basket in-hand and rope-tied bundle of branches at her back. He watched as an excitable young Hyur scurried over to assist with the offloading, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch upwards at how much less this place appeared to frighten the Miqo'te as she willingly engaged with others in polite workplace cooperation.

Stretching her arms once free of tiring load, she spotted him at the other end of the guildhall, immediately perking at the sight of him and scurrying over with hurried little steps. Several pairs of eyes watched on curiously as she smiled for him, but quickly returned to their individual business without further desire to watch.

"Silvairre! Was there something you needed from us? I didn't think I'd see you today".

Warmed by how genuinely happy she seemed at the sight of him, Silvairre couldn't help but crack a half smile of his own in return, giving a light shake of his head before reaching over to pluck stray leaves from work-mussed hair. Had the forest made itself at home upon her crown?

Passive perceivers  noticed hint of neither flinch nor flattening of the ears as his hand approached. Oh, her grandmother would loathe this, adamant as she was that the 'silly girl' would come to her senses and return with a willingness to fit matriarch's given mold. Gossip amongst Botanists was quiet, catty, an art of it's own, and it was no secret the elder Nelbah saw a return to former behaviors as the only proper way to heal. Perhaps in time she'd reconcile with the girl and accept whoever she became, but for now? The sourpuss could stew in her stigma.

"No, I've nothing to order today, I'd simply..." Simply what, got too used to her company? Gotten bored and found nothing better to do than seek her out? Honesty left his lips before he could conjure a lie. "Wished to see you. Mayhaps you'd like an escort home, once you're done for the day?".

With genuine enthusiasm, her fingers found the arm she oft clung to- Much to silent embarrassment- And she eagerly accepted his proposal with a near cheery;

"Ah- Yes please! I can make you supper first, if you'd like?".

"If that is your preference, then I'm not opposed in the slightest".

No longer did Silvairre spend his sixth sun guarding skittish friend, but it did not mean he'd lost her company. Instead, the sixth was now a day for gardening, tailing Fufucha as she tended the growery and participating whenever the task at hand was simple enough- And oft it was. It was a day for manual work and well earned supper, cooked by evening's companion as they both spoke of the day's events before he escorted her home. It was a day to allow reprieve from scrutinizing whispers and earned ostracization from scorned peers, amongst the outwardly friendly Botanists who more than tolerated his presence- Nina's grandmother notwithstanding.

It was a day to believe there was good in himself, still.

He hadn't the slightest clue how to go about fixing things, and the idea of asking his small yet somehow still enthused group of friends brought heavy shame to settle in his gut, he could not make that leap just yet. What he could do, was coax his tongue to lay passive rather than spit vitriol at those around him, to carefully pick which ways advice worded itself and how he referred to those within his guild- And beyond it, given a moment to think. Would it make amends for countless slights and earn the good graces of those who rightly hated him? No, likely not- Particularly not from those who'd taken the brunt of it. But for an utter fuck up still learning to move past his own shame, it would have to do.

Chapter Text

Winter's chill made haste for the Black Shroud, unable to stymie the bustle of civilization as Gridanians bundled up tight to go about their business unimpeded. Slowly, decorations for the Starlight Celebration began popping up across the awnings of homes and businesses alike, reminding everyone that the season was upon them and sanctioned merriment came a little closer each day.

Each institute within Gridania held their own celebrations in the lead up to most auspicious event, differing from guild to guild but almost always loud, drunken, filled with off-kilter song and the odd inebriated coupling. Unusual was it for Silvairre to join the Archers' celebrations on any given year, but Luciane's soft insistence that he make an exception near twisted his arm, keen as she seemed to try her hand at social repairs between him and her other subordinates.

"You're allowed to bring a plus one, you know. Why not invite your little friend? Leih's been dying to meet her properly".

Caving, he'd mentioned such an offer in passing on the following sixth, noting the way curiosity brimmed beneath apprehension as he explained what such get-togethers were for and mentioned Leih's own desire for an introduction. With confirmation that he'd be happy to see her home safely come gathering's end, and that it really was alright for her to take the oh-so special spot of 'plus one', she'd accepted, wiggling lightly in her seat with an excess of excitement and no shortage of nerves.

It was thus inevitable that he'd find himself sat awkwardly at one of many oval-shaped table in Luciane's dining room, not enthused in the slightest by the cheery tunes of her orchestration player, trying hard not to let discomfort show upon his face and conversing exclusively with said plus one while awaiting the arrival of his two remaining friends. He would've preferred to slip in without much fuss, but well meaning Guildmaster simply wouldn't have it, excitedly welcoming them both by exclaiming their names and stating how glad she was they could make it. To say all eyes present were glued to the entryway would be an understatement.

Further company announced their own presence well enough, partaking in excitable greetings equally as enthusiastically as their host before rushing in. Leih attached herself to Silvairre from behind, making use of the fact he was seated to throw strong arms around his shoulders and squeeze, while Ardbert slid himself into spare seat besides the Elezen and produced the fakest pout known to man.

"Whaaat? Where's my hug Silvairre?" He whined, receiving a smack to the shoulder once long arms were freed.

"At the bottom of a very deep mug of liquor, the kind you can't hope to afford".

Taking the seat next to Nina, Leih made no effort to hold back her laughter, reaching for two tankards of spiced mead as their gracious host finally brought out evening's provisions and depositing one in front of her fellow Miqo'te with a 'thonk!'.

"Nina, right? I'm Leih! Or, 'The Aliapoh girl' according to your grandma..." Her mimicry came complete with frown and stern tone, washed away with an eager sip. "Mh, the weather might be nasty but this stuff always makes it worth it. It's nice to finally meet you! I've been begging Silvairre for ages".

"You could give her time to respond to the first part before immediately babbling about something else, you know" Silvairre mused, his own hands wrapped around an identical tankard as the drinks spread out amongst thirsty guests. "But yes, the mead is indeed one of the few positives of the season. For once the taste seems to outweigh everyone's rush to drunken stupor".

In contrast to everyone else, Ardbert had all but buried himself within the mug, chugging like most male Hyur his age seemed so fond of- Though time spent amongst the Lominsans was most likely the culprit. Immediately he had a second in-hand, unbothered by the laughter of those around him as a few of those he'd grown familiar with began chanting encouragement.

Yes, in stark contrast to Silvairre, everyone seemed to love Ardbert. Perhaps that was part of why he'd been so resistant to start with, unfairly jealous that the man simply seemed to slot himself into any friend group around him with little trouble, welcomed by all for his unique combination of asinine antics and boundless generosity. Turning attention to his other side instead, soft chatter graced his ears as Leih coaxed Nina into conversation, encouraging her to try the mead she'd no memory of ever enjoying, gossiping about-

"So he spends all day gardening while you're out in the woods?".

Oh Gods they were talking about him.

"Fufucha says he's very good at it" Comes quiet reply, smaller Miqo'te slowly sipping at her drink, ears forward and giddy at pleasant taste.

Perhaps he should follow Ardbert's example.

"Ugh, that's just typical though, isn't it?" Chipped in another voice, sat to Leih's right. "Go figure 'Silvairre the infallible' would excel at whatever bullshit he does when he's not breathing down our necks".

Brunette, Hyur, clearly already a little tipsy and full of jaded snark. What was his name again?

"Get kicked out of the God's Quiver? Just start harassing the entire guild and make'm feel like garbage so you can, hic, feel a lil' taller. Get stuck mentoring? Start insultin' the crap out of your pupils like a racist cunt. How come he's the one gettin' to guard cute girls? Doubt he'd even know what to, hic, what to do with one, he's hardly got a pulse!".

"Hey, Piers?" Leih asked, tilting her torso slightly to properly involve him in what wasn't his conversation to begin with.

Right, Piers. His Junior in the Quiver, now giddy to be his senior.

"Yeah?".

"Do you maybe want to shut your fucking mouth?" It's asked sweetly, with a smile firmly in place though her eyes belay bubbling irritation.

"What? Why-".

"Oh come off it already," Interrupted another Elezen by the name of Chansteloup, if Silvairre remembered correctly, "You're just sour over your own cowardice, and now you're making a fool of yourself at a communal gathering. Hardly an attractive way to introduce yourself".

A pained gasp left the Hyur, turning in his seat to face fellow member of the Quiver with betrayal wrote upon his face while Silvairre and present company simply watched, a little lost. Hurried whispers were exchanged between them as Piers grabbed his friend by the collar and pulled him down for privacy, much to the taller man's chagrin. Leih made eye contact with both other participants and offered a slow shrug, chalking it up to drunken nonsense and returning to her own drink and prior conversation, already concocting ways to fluster Silvairre with gossip sourced fresh.

Or, attempting to. Piers downed the rest of his drink and smacked empty tankard on the table, building up the nerve to enact hormone fueled foolery.

"Hey, y-you!" He pointed, addressing Nina mid-sip.

"M-me?" The tankard held little, sweet honey and spices helping the alcohol to disappear quickly.

"Yeah- Areyousingle?".

Genuinely unable to understand his babble with the lilt of drunken slur, Nina turned her eyes to Silvairre in search of a translation, a gesture Piers took rather personally at immediate assumption.

"Oh come on, really? Him?!".

"No, she's just-". A moment to explain was too high a luxury for him, it seemed.

"Right I forgot," Cut in dismayed drunkard, rolling his eyes. "You think anyone that isn't like you's just a bug under your shoe, don'cha. S'what, just fuck-buddies then?" Chansteloup mouthed a quiet 'So sorry' behind mouthy friend's back.

"W-what?" Nina finally squeaked out, mortified by the implications near as much as his behavior.

"He's jus' using you, y'know- Don'- hic, don't let'im get away with it".

"Using me? But- He doesn't do that, he said I'm repulsive".

What was surely her attempt to defend Silvairre and clear up the situation, instead led to complete silence from the small gaggle of Archers engaged in this madness, as well as that of those eavesdropping as they stopped pretending to look elsewhere. Aah, the allure of workplace drama. Ardbert was lost to his cups in the corner with those who'd encouraged him, entirely unaware of the ticking time bomb nearby.

"He what." Nearly a whisper, venom on the young Hyur's tongue as he flicked outraged glare towards Silvairre, "Oh it's personal now buddy, outside-".

"Piers you drunken drip, if you turn this into a reason to punch him I will not forgive you, this is Luciane's house" Came harsh hiss as a firm hand slapped steady to Piers' shoulder, keeping him in his seat.

"Tha's why I said outside!".

"If you wish to pick a fight with me so badly, perhaps do it when you aren't making a drunken disgrace of yourself." Silvairre spat, patience worn far too thin to feign politeness, even if the main source of grievances aired was entirely justified. "And perhaps if you were sober, you'd bother to let people speak before resorting to using your fists. Rather unsightly for a member of the God's Quiver, is it not?".

"Right, 'cause you know aaaaall about disgrace don't you traito-".

"Umm!" Nina attempted to interrupt, "You wanted- There was something you were asking for, r-right? If I say you can have it, will... Will you please stop picking on my friend?".

Surprise colored the faces of those watching the scene unfold, Silvairre's most of all as he blinked down at the lightly trembling Miqo'te beside him.

"Really? Hells Miss, be mine and I'll never talk to'im again if that's what you want" Too drunk was he to realize just how uncomfortable the object of boyish affection truly was.

Fear stared back at him, raw and desperate in eyes blown wide. Shaking fingers dropped the empty mug upon the table and she jumped to the clatter, fumbling to right it lest she make someone angry, earn herself a punishment. As far as she understood, this man asked to own her in exchange for leaving her first and only friend in peace, and she'd agreed in advance. Silvairre watched her rise in silence, brow furrowed at her actions as she smoothed out the winter dress worn over-top soft stockings, and stepped timidly towards Piers' seat with her head hung. Only when she kneeled between Leih and the Hyur that hounded him did he realize what was happening. Rising from her own seat, Leih crouched down to try and usher confused cousin back to her feet.

"What're you doing down here? Come on, it's okay- You don't have to do that".

Voice lost to her panic, Nina simply met Leih's gaze with confusion, eyes well on their way to tears. The man she'd assumed now owned her simply babbled a series of short spoken confusions, fire in his stride snuffed out by strange behavior as even to a drunk man this was abnormal.

"He won't- I already said- N-now-" She tried. Truly, she tried.

Swallowing his pride, Silvairre approached the scene and took a knee, hand placed to Leih's shoulder in silent request for her to move aside. She acquiesced, and once he filled the space in her stead, tentative fingers found purchase on Nina's arm, ensuring she knew he was there before speaking.

"Nina, Piers is drunk, and he hasn't the slightest idea how to interact with women on a good day. Do you remember what I told you? About things that are not permitted within Gridania?". Quiet as he tried to be, those oogling simply held their breath to listen in.

"But he said- An-and I said-".

"Even if that were his intention, he would have no claim to you. It does not matter if you agreed to it, knowingly or not- The simple act of owning another is unacceptable".

"Hey hold on, no one said anythin-".

"Shut up." Silvairre demanded, staring intently up at Piers with quiet fury. "Be quiet, and stop making a mockery of Luciane's hospitality." It's a stark difference in tone, snarled rather than softly spoken, and slowly sobering buffoon finally holds his tongue.

Free hand makes it's way to the Miqo'te's face, slowly coaxing her to look up at him as he returns to awkward attempts at diffusing, sighing at the sight of that same desperate fear he'd thought to be slowly releasing her from it's clutches.

"Alright, I realize you hold little trust in protection offered by the law, so allow me to propose this instead." He swallowed, mortified by the watchful gazes around them during what was clearly private, "If someone truly were to try laying claim again, I shall personally see to it that they are beaten within an ilm of their life, and ensure they are unable to lay a hand upon you- No matter who that might be. Now pray tell, what must I do to coax you from the floor?".

Reaching for the front of his shirt in a gesture Silvairre recognized, she asked as best she could for physical comfort in support of his words, distressed little mewl finally dislodging itself from her throat as he acquiesced and awkwardly brought her into a hug. The color of cheeks that burned with embarrassment could rival even the deepest crimson on the many baubles decorating Luciane's home for the occasion. Nina wound her arms around his neck with face buried against his collar, and as he tucked an arm below her rump to lift her, he took silent joy from the weight of her in contrast to the last time he'd carried her shriveled form.

"I take it we're done with this nonsense?" He asked, addressing Chansteloup rather than the shamed mess beside him, chin buried in pink hair.

"Absolutely, thank you, let's never speak of this again." Equally as glad to be done with it, the other Elezen took his friend by the wrist and all but dragged him to his feet, leading him away with snide comments about drinking something that might re-hydrate shriveled brain.

At first, he'd intended on placing Nina back in her seat, but she clung tight to his back and took comfort from pressing her face against him. Instead, Silvairre begrudgingly slid back into his own chair, frightened friend settled upon his lap with her legs hanging off to one side. Ah, the observing rumor mill would have a field day with this, wouldn't they. Leih shone mercy upon him with the offer of a fresh tankard and for once, he drank for fog instead of flavor, seeking to numb his awareness of curious glances and knowing smirks.

Thankfully the next source of amusement begged for their attention, Ardbert and a small handful of others performing some silly drunken dance to the tune currently playing. Given reprieve from being under the spotlight, and tipsy enough to numb the rest, he allowed his jaw to rest upon Nina's head and shot Leih a playful smirk, gesturing towards the current fanfare with his eyes and asking;

"Whereabouts do you think he learned to be such a skilled dancer?". Leih came close to snorting mead, a satisfying response.

"Maybe it's a traditional Hyuran mating dance? I think he's trying to attract a partner".

"Is that so? Are you feeling particularly enthused by it, then?".

Frowning as if to seriously ponder the question, the Miqo'te stroked non-existent beard and hummed, so wise and knowing.

"Maybe if he shook his arms with a little more urgency? Otherwise no, I can't say I'm being attracted in the slightest".

They shared an earnest laugh at that, prior tension slowly forgotten as even Nina loosened her grip, hands resting upon her lap with cheek pressed to Silvairre's chest, apparently content to continue using him as a seat. With booze in his belly he couldn't say it bothered him at all, warmth and weight comforting just as it had been within the hollow of ancient tree. The arm supporting her back soon wrapped snug around her middle, and his charge sighed contentedly at the gesture, resting smaller arms atop his own until offered drink found itself in her hands.

Finally, things were starting to feel at least remotely festive.

Food followed from Luciane's own kitchen, an assortment of small savories and sweets deposited throughout the dining room as eager guests flocked to pick through them. Deviled eggs, canapes, crackers and cheeses, skewers of succulent poultry. Various pickles, preserves and spreads on offer with delectable little rolls of bread. Sweet slices, cupcakes, truffles full of dried fruits and nuts, full sized cakes and tarts pre-sliced to aid in communal sharing. Fresh fruits decorated the in-betweens in small slices so carefully arranged, cups full of toothpicks just begging to be loaded with sweet and sour bounty. 

Next year, hosting their get together fell to the Quiver, and Luciane would not admit defeat so easily.

As is often said, the fastest way to someone's heart is through their stomach, proven at least partially correct by the more amiable air that settled as everyone busied themselves with mouthfuls of food that was both delicious and free. Idle chatter filled the dining room, about the current state of the world, about trivial gripes only an archer might understand, about how good the food was and how Luciane had outdone herself. Silvairre found that even he was included in these passing conversations, called out to by half drunk former friends to recount his part in particular happenings from years past, or simply offered a nudge to the shoulder in passing by those enticed towards their table by it's contents.

Ever friendly, Leih re-engaged their quiet conversation, enjoying the sight of Silvairre the touch-starved with someone sat upon his lap just a little too much if the smug grin she shot him said anything about it. She'd done them the 'kindness' of fetching platefuls of assorted treats from around the room, and then pinched the seat Nina no longer used in order to scooch up close.

"So what's his house like? Is it all gross and messy inside?" She asked, watching as Nina licked rich maple frosting from atop her cupcake.

"No, it's always tidy. I like his home, it's cozy and smells like him".

"Well I'm glad at least one of you will vouch for my cleanliness," Silvairre quipped in response, pausing for another bite of his own dessert. "You could... Come and see for yourself, perhaps? If that's something you'd like".

Beaming at the offer, Leih nodded eagerly over a mouthful of mead, holding up one finger to ask for a moment as she emptied third tankard.

"Are you kidding? I'd love to! Want me to bring anything? I have a couple of board-games!".

Seeing her so excited by being invited to his home brought a different kind of warmth to that of the alcohol in his system, and softened as he was by it, Silvairre offered her a fond smile, reciprocated in kind by someone with far too much patience for his stubborn self. Such a simple thing, the near childish bliss of inviting a friend into your home. Sure, they were all adults, but the calamity had absconded with the latter part of their childhoods alongside every other stolen treasure.

"If you're so inclined, then I think I'd like that very much".

Swapping mead for mulled wine as the hour grew late, drunken guests began to peel themselves away from the gathering in ones and twos, thinning the crowd until music was louder than chatter once more. Unbothered for once by the haze of harder liquor, Silvairre found it left him far more willing to engage in asinine banter than if he'd elected for stalwart sobriety, the pleasant surprise of his peers easy to see as they chanced to relax around him in turn. Partially emptied tables converged as the group grew smaller, and he found the menial madness spilling from their mouths to be giddy entertainment, just a group of people making merry. It seemed Luciane got her wish, after all.

Emboldened by her own inebriation, the woman he'd so readily accepted upon his lap tilted her head up in search of his face, straightening herself up enough to affectionately rub fluffy head against him. A few slurred 'Awwww's added to the embarrassment of such a public display, and he buried returning blush in his cup, far from sober enough to think of some clever retort. The thumb at her belly drew slow circles of it's own accord, desire to reciprocate in some manner unfiltered as inhibitions were done away with. Nina hummed her appreciation for the private little gesture, and tilted her head a little further in order to softly lap at the underside of his jaw.

Inhaling sharply through his nose at the sensation, Silvairre awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted in a bid for her attention, earning himself a soft 'Mrrrp?' as she leaned back against his arm and essentially allowed him to cradle her. Cheeks rosy with the red of eagerly drunk wine, she smiled up at him questioningly, eyes half lidded as she waited for whatever he'd wanted to say. The tail she'd kept wound around her hips had let itself swish freely, and he watched as she chose to seek out his leg and anchor it there instead.

"I think- Perhaps it's best I see you home, 'tis growing quite late" An evident strain carried in his voice, eliciting various snickers that he did his best to ignore.

Acquiescing without a fuss, Nina allowed herself to be coaxed onto unsteady feet, steady for the second it took him to stand before wobbling like a barely-set jello and tumbling against him with a giggle. Holding her up with one arm at lower back, he did his best to politely excuse himself from those remaining, thanking Luciane for the invitation as she smiled knowingly from her own seat. Leih immediately slunk over to sit beside her, no doubt ready to engage in drunken gossip.

"You are utterly pickled" He sighed, gently guiding Nina towards the door.

Apparently that was funny enough to warrant another giggle, and as he scooped her up to simply carry the little drunkard home, he realized it was the first time he'd heard her laugh. Even if it took copious amounts of alcohol to coax forth, it was still pleasant to see her so carefree.

"Silvaaaaairre that's silly" She practically cooed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck and softly bunting her forehead against his chin.

Her tail circled his waist now that tall legs were out of reach, and a quiet part of him dreaded the number of misunderstandings he'd likely have to clarify in the coming weeks. 'Twas merely friendly affection.

"You're silly" He retorted, carefully measuring his steps to ensure he didn't act a fool and drop her or tumble over.

Nonsensical mutterings announced their presence alongside visible puffs of breath as Silvairre slowly carted her towards the Carline Canopy, stairs challenging his wits one elevated slab at a time and demanding all the drunken focus he could muster in order to safely deliver equally drunken damsel to her door. She fumbled around in her pockets for the key, finally managing to retrieve it with a quiet 'tadaaaaa' before jabbing it unsuccessfully towards the lock upon being returned to her feet. Rolling his eyes, Silvairre placed his hand atop her own and guided it towards the lock, making sure to place said key atop the drawers nearest her door in avoidance of addled displacement.

A little steadier now, but still wobbly as a willow, he watched as Nina kicked off her shoes and tights with little regard for where they landed, depositing her rump on the bed and flopping backwards across it. Grumbling under his breath, he approached with intent to tuck her in, startled by the way she pulled him down towards her as he leaned in to shift her lengthwise. Kneeling at the edge of the bed with her legs between his own, only the support of his elbows withheld full weight from crushing against her.

"What-".

"You're really pretty, did you know?" She interrupted before full confusion could be voiced, hands releasing his shirt in favor of cupping sculpted cheeks that grew pink once more beneath her fingers. "Ah- Are you cold? It's really cold... Your ears have no fur".

Stunned to silence by her words, by the sight of that placid little smile on her face that turned to a pout as she lay in a pool of her own fanned-out hair, he had no guard against the way deft fingers cupped the backs of his ears, shuddery breath leaving him as she ran warm thumbs along their lower edge. Much like the soft brush of her tongue against his jaw, it had an effect. Warmth other than the kind she'd wished to share made manifest under his skin.

"N-Nina, you're very drunk," he insisted, removing his gaze from her face and focusing again on shepherding her into bed.

Happily hugging her arms around his neck once more, she'd seemingly relented and made the task easier for him, allowing herself to be carefully dragged into proper position as covers were pulled free beneath her and draped over bare legs she'd felt no need to hide from him. Only when he attempted to remove himself from her grip and finish tucking her in did he realize, she'd never intended to let go.

"Stay?" She pleaded quietly against his neck, nose pressed to his pulse.

He knew, of course, that she only offered her company. A needier part of him, drunkenly awoken by innocent touch after years of isolation and self hatred, filled his mind with fleeting fantasies of what such an offer could mean.

Oh no. No no no absolutely not.

Nina let out a sad little whine at his lack of an answer, and once more he caved, craving the friendly warmth she offered far more than the sudden craving for forbidden skin to skin.

"Alright, if you're certain...".

Eager nods jostled him, and she finally let go to allow that he clumsily remove his own shoes and other excess attire, wriggling herself to the side a little in open offer that he fill said space. The singular pillow was large enough, but as he slipped in beside her she opted to nestle her head atop one of his arms instead, cuddling up to him fully in a stark contrast to the first time they'd shared a bed. Nervous fingers found themselves idly combing through her hair, eliciting a gentle purr that he hadn't known her capable of producing, one of her own arms draping itself over his waist as twitchy tail re-claimed his leg.

Had it not been for the alcohol that dragged him towards the sweet escape of sleep, it's unlikely the poor man would've slept a wink.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly second to wake, soft grizzling muffled itself against Silvairre's chest, groaning himself at encroaching hangover as he squinted to his surroundings. Not the kind of drunkard to ever truly forget his actions, the night prior remained fresh enough to taste- Though his mouth held the unpleasant fuzz of teeth that needed a good scrubbing. A disgruntled huff left the room's current renter, and he let out a questioning hum at her displeasure now that he was awake enough to perceive it.

"My head hurts..." She whined, burrowing her face against him in an effort to avoid daylight's invasion, "... And I need to pee. Ugh".

"The bathroom is five steps from here- Ten, perhaps, what with your tiny legs" Grizzling once more, she snaked both arms around his waist and wriggled until the covers hid her face, earning a chuckle as he gently attempted to pry himself free. "I'll still be here when you return, you know".

Relenting with a displeased sigh, he watched her disappear below the blankets and shuffle backwards to the foot of the bed, slipping out the other end as if emerging feet-first from some kind of cocoon. Scrunching her face against the sun, she huffed and gave a firm lash of her tail, patting at furniture to help find her way towards the en-suite washroom. When she wasn't perpetually stuck in a state of fight or flight, she really was a peculiar creature.

Given a moment to himself, Silvairre sat up against the head-board, mild headache and low rolling nausea reminding him just how much he'd willingly drunk. Presence still desired despite the lack of alcohol in Nina's system, he allowed himself to be at ease within her space, any worry about her waking with regret for inebriated invitation evaporating on the spot when all she'd done was pull closer. There was much to think about, though he'd much rather ignore it all-together and pretend certain things never happened, but as she returned lacking the long-sleeved dress from the night prior and squirmed her way back into his arms, wearing nothing but the sleeve-dress beneath in a show of genuine trust, he couldn't regret finding his way into her bed. Not when she made sure to pull up the covers to accommodate his seated position, and wordlessly wrapped her arms around him like it was the most natural thing. Not when she sighed sweetly as his own arm cradled her back.

She treated him as if by touch alone, he provided her with shelter from whatever might seek to do her harm. Had she never ceased to see him as her protector? She wasn't his responsibility anymore, but even he'd found himself continuing to play the part and offering safety when she needed it. When had it stopped being a duty and become impulse instead? He couldn't truly put a finger on the when, but a glance at her cuddled peacefully against his side at least answered the how. Affections he hadn't deigned to dream of during his self destructive isolation were lavished upon him freely, and she appeared to truly enjoy doing so.

Idly tracing shapes upon her hip as his hand sat against silky fabric, he felt her hum in appreciation, followed by that same soft purr she'd graced him with as he ghosted fingers through her hair before bed. What a strange trait for a race to have, the ability to delicately rumble when particularly pleased. Not unpleasant in the slightest as it shook through him gently. It wasn't until he awoke mid afternoon that he realized it'd lulled him back to sleep, right where he sat.

It was Fufucha who first broached the subject of invitation to Silvairre, casually throwing it into conversation as he assisted with the storing of grain for Winter, asking that he join them not as someone else's extra- But as a friend to the guild. Botanists work closely with those their harvests are entrusted to, it was only natural in her eyes that everyone who'd lent their hands or their coin to maintaining the delicate balance between spoken and spirit would have a place at the table, for why should a family shun those who marry into it? Casual dress and clean hands were her only requests, and though strange he'd assured the Lalafell of his attendance.

He felt like a little boy again, being welcomed by older relative to join in on something special, and empathetic as Fufucha was he'd no doubt she was well aware of it.

Ecstatic to learn he'd be joining them, Nina spent the whole evening prattling on about chestnuts, about how to cook and peel them, how to tell if they'd gone bad or had any blight upon them, and though it was endearing as ever to hear her so genuinely enthused and willing to speak, it wasn't until arriving at the event itself several days ahead that he realized why she'd gone off on a tangent.

Buckets upon buckets of chestnuts littered the upper landing of the Greatloam Growery, all thankfully free of their spiny outer coverings but still raw and tucked tight within their waxy brown shells, a small gaggle of people already gathered to prepare their bounty for cooking. Towards the back, Buscarron tended to several outdoor ovens, clearly temporary fixtures intended to be dismantled into the earth once their job was done, carefully placed atop the cobble rather than smothering their lawn. Clapping his hands together to firmly rub off any remaining muck, he approached the pair with a hearty holler- Sentiment mirrored by others around him as their presence was noticed.

"Excited ta peel some chestnuts, are we?" He asked, barely restraining the jovial laugh that wished to bubble out.

While the Miquo'te attached to his arm nodded excitedly, Silvairre moved scrutinizing squint between the endless piles of unprocessed nuts, and the man that stood grinning before him.

"I'm uncertain if you're attempting a jest, or if I've simply mixed up which day I'd agreed to come" He admitted, softly huffing to the howl of laughter that finally escaped long-time acquaintance.

"Oh Gods lad, no one told ya, did they? Well don't you worry 'bout it none, just pick a bucket and start slicin'. I'm sure the little Miss can tell ya how".

Near dragging him towards one of several unclaimed buckets, Nina offered Silvairre a pat to the outside of his arms as if to bid he stay right there, and quickly scurried off into the guildhall in search of something. Glancing to those already working, it wasn't a surprise when she returned with a folded blanket for them to sit upon and a pair of small vegetable knives, offering the tools out to him so she could set up their little spot. Miffed as he was by suddenly having to work out in the cold, it was clear he lacked the context behind these preparations, and so obediently he sat himself down beside his friend to begin slicing X shaped cuts along the underbelly of each nut, depositing them one at a time into an empty bucket beside their full one.

"You seem well, Nhio".

Familiar voice offered the icy greeting with a lick of disdain at sharp edges, and though Nina paused with flattened ears at her grandmother's call, her silence remained unbroken in an attempt to assert her newfound agency, to choose which name was truly hers. Grip on the tiny knife tightening, her hands shook too much to properly perform given task, and she carefully set both nut and blade down in favor of burying fingers in the fabric of her thick winter dress.

"Really, of all the traits you could've kept I wish the Gods hadn't chosen your stubbornness" She hissed, earning pointed looks from some of the other workers nearby.

It wasn't a secret that there was drama within the Nelbah family, what with the eldest son refusing to ever visit home even before the calamity- As most male Keepers are wont to do, and the only surviving female to carry her surname outright refusing it alongside the first name insistently pressed upon her. Not that they thought it the girl's fault- Not with how the old woman had smothered her in an attempt to instill 'proper' etiquette and ideals. Most often they worked at different hours, happily remaining out of each other's way, but they couldn't well do that now.

Nina's face crumbled at the jab, prior enthusiasm washed away by the feeling of inadequacy as remaining relative once again lamented over what was lost, and twice as much over what little remained.

"Ey, maybe if ya quit treatin' the lass like a doll she'd be more willin' ta talk to ya" Buscarron cut in, knowing he was one of the few who wouldn't directly have to work with the woman. "Makin' her use a name she don't want, makin' her dress an' do things just 'cause ya said so, ain't that the same thing they did to'er?". It was a generic 'they', an umbrella term for individuals he knew nothing about beyond scars he'd bore witness to one rainy night in the Southern Shroud, but the deep-set scowl on Madam Nelbah's face made it clear she understood.

With the old woman's attention shifted onto someone else for a moment, Silvairre cleared his hands to chance a palm-up offering, quickly accepted by the tiny hand that now shook against his own. Eyes sharper than he'd ever given her credit for, Nina's grandmother snapped her attention back to the two of them, visibly infuriated as she swallowed whatever insults might've been aimed towards Buscarron in favor of condemning the sorry sight before her.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you brought him with you. You're aware of his hatred for our kind, aren't you? He cares not beyond whatever it is you're doing to keep him around. Did they truly corrupt you in such a way? Turn you into a little harlot that's willing to debase yourself for someone so grossly opposed to us even living here?".

"Rhila, please" Not a moment too soon did Fufucha make her entrance- Or exit rather, from the guildhall, arms laden with flat metal trays.

"Fufucha you can't hope to understand, Keepers don't abandon their families in such a manner, less so for mere men-".

"No, I believe I understand well enough. All of us do" Insisted their Guildmaster, handing the stack of baking trays over to Buscarron and turning to face long-time friend. Enough was enough. "You're so insistent your way is best, that to see her happy doing anything else has left you blindly enraged. To say such things about your own blood, it's cruel Rhila, cruel like the very people you claim to protect her from. At first I saw you try- Truly try to help her remember what once was, but I fear failure has twisted your heart, and in the aftermath you've tried to shape her into the perfect child instead. You can not do that with a youngster, even less so with an adult. Have you seen her smile even once while under your care? That young man you continue to put down is the only one among us capable of coaxing such joy to the surface. How bitter must you be to thumb your nose at so sweet a friendship? Did you not tell me yourself that his presence would be accepted if it nurtured her happiness?".

Unable to come up with a response to the humiliating manner in which Fufucha laid bare well-known truth, the elder Miqo'te simply turned her sights back on the ghost of her own kin, face contorted with an ever evolving mixture of rage and grief as she warred internally and wrestled with her pride. Locking eyes with Silvairre at her granddaughter's refusal to look anywhere but the floor, sharp teeth bared themselves in a pained scowl, and she choked out;

"Menphina's mercy, why did she have to invite you... Is she truly choosing someone like you over her family?".

"Fufucha invited me." He answered plainly, breaking eye contact for a moment to glance at squeezed hand, "Are you making her choose such a thing?".

Glaring down at the way both of her granddaughter's hands now held tight to the Elezen's, the stubborn old woman let out a bitter huff and shook her head in disbelief, turning around and returning from whence she came with no more than a spat out;

"No need, she's made clear her feelings on the matter".

"Could someone please just slip her a laxative already? Twelve preserve..." Came scoffed indignation from one of the many Botanists who'd paused in the face of such a spat.

"Sandre she's ancient!" Hissed Cicely, elbowing him in the arm, "It'd kill her!".

"Not if the constipation ends her first".

Chortles spread amongst those nearest, and a very apologetic looking Fufucha presented herself before unintentional victors of the unseemly squabble.

"I'm sorry my dears, I'd thought perhaps time apart would have calmed her enough to see reason, but it appears to have only soured her further".

"It's hardly your fault," Silvairre argued with a slow shake of his head, conflicted given the partial truth of her accusations, "If anything, I'm to blame for her bitterness. I've a history of voicing some rather... Ill founded opinions, particularly towards her kind. The disgust on display for my involvement is well founded".

"Silvairre, most of our kind grew up being taught of our own self importance, above all bar the Elementals" Cut in their Elezen receptionist... Leonceault? Yes that sounded about right. "It's no secret you've a reputation amongst the Archers for being... Difficult, but I've not heard a single uncouth thing from your lips since you started assisting Fufucha. Mayhaps you were simply a little slower to wake from the dream of aristocracy than most, but you're certainly far from last".

"I'm inclined to agree," Fufucha added, "By pruning ill grown branches from your person, you've slowly matured for the better. To some you may forever be seen as the man who spewed endless hatred, and those hurt by such are within their right to keep distance from you. But to us, you're the kind young man who helps me get things done on time, awkward but polite. You're also the one to accomplish what we ourselves could not".

Soft eyes dipped to the joining of hands, and he knew in an instant what she'd meant to imply. Through chance, he'd managed to grow close with someone who was otherwise too afraid to find peace in good company. He'd nothing to say, no wise retort or snide remark, simply embarrassed by the way this group of people accepted him as one of their own. Embarrassed by the urge to sniffle and cry like an infant. He could put no words to the weight theirs held, but none seemed to mind as they began working once more.

Satisfied with his own preparations, Buscarron opted to take a moment for himself as well, plonking his butt across from Silvairre and Nina while keeping both buckets between them.

"Ya doin' alright there, lass?" He asked quietly, concerned with stony silence.

Softly nodding, Nina released the sweaty palm she'd clung to and reached for her knife once more, unwilling to lock eyes with anyone as she returned to prior task, motions less steady than they had been before. Slowly reaching one of his own arms out towards her, the older man paused as pink ears perked to attention, and he offered her the most comforting smile he could muster with a face like his.

"Anyone ever give ya a pat on the head? Most'a the Miqo'te lasses I've known ain't adverse ta the ole head-rub".

"Silvairre plays with my hair sometimes" She offered after a moment of thought, eyes glued to his hand though mild was the apprehension within them.

"Would ya like one?" Her choice, as it should always be. The light wheeze of shock that left Silvairre didn't go unnoticed, but he'd be kind and hold off on the teasing... For now.

Wiggling where she kneeled, the Elezen took note of signs that indicated an eagerness to try, far in contrast to the first time Buscarron had made such an offer. Rather than answer out-loud, Nina simply tilted her head forwards to meet him half way, and as promised he delivered harmless affection in the form of a gentle pat, smoothing over her hair first before scratching at her scalp with surprisingly well-kept nails. Big enough was his hand for pinky and index to each reach where ear met scalp, and as remaining fear dwindled the Miqo'te allowed her eyes to close.

Unlike the purr drawn forth under Silvairre's touch, this one was stuttery, crackled, as if being in public meant she could not truly relax while still finding the soft scratching pleasant enough to rumble. The grin splitting Buscarron's face at initial approach softened, and he continued with privileged task while speaking softly. 

"There ya go, easy does it. Ain't none'a this your fault, so don't you go worrying 'bout that cranky old cat. She ain't owed a darn thing, least of all by you".

Genuinely reassured for once by someone other than ever dutiful guard, the little woman seemed twice as enthused to continue slicing through the contents of their over-laden bucket, as if determined to make up for time lost on languishing over unfortunate interruption. Loud clattering filled the air as oven-ready nuts were spread out and slid into place, scent earthy and mild as the heat loosened hardy husks. Rushing off once more to collect a rather large pot with contents that rattled as she skittered about, Nina wiggled intently on the spot, eyes glued to the oven her precious handiwork lay roasting in, and a surprised chirp left her when Silvairre slid sturdy fingers against her scalp to ruffle tangling pink.

"All of this excitement, and I haven't a clue what we're making here- Beyond the obvious".

"Marrew... Marre- Candied chestnuts!" She exclaimed, utterly delighted by the idea- Even if the proper name for it escaped her.

"Marrons glacés, dear" Fufucha corrected, arms overburdened with an insidious amount of honey. "But yes, that is the more common name for them.

Quick to assist her as always, Silvairre took the hefty jar from tiny arms and settled it upon the same table occupied by it's empty brethren and assorted pots, following behind as she returned for more without the need that she ask. Upon return he found several seated and swearing, quiet hisses of pain as scalding skins prickled their own. Ever observant he took to the task, clumsy and unaccustomed to the delicate prep-work as he may have been.

Watching him finally lift a second steaming nut from the tray, Nina squirmed her way onto his lap (Much to silent bafflement on behalf of her seat) and carefully cupped her hands around his own, tiny fingers helping to guide the correct motions needed to roll and pluck both outer shell and fuzzy peel. A reversal of how he'd done similar to assist with drunken dizziness. Honey's sweet smell tickled cold noses, and once there were no more nuts to peel the pair simply sat and watched as pots were put to simmer, slowly saturating each little morsel with precious golden sugar.

Yet, what Silvairre had thought the end of their gathering became simple introduction, ushered inside alongside the others to take his well-earned place around the large round table at guildhall's center, proper portable stove heating a large saucer of water with the aid of fire shards embedded within. Surrounding the steaming bath lay a colorful assortment of ingredients, a spread of thinly sliced meats and countless vegetables the half of which he couldn't hope to name. Bowls and cutlery were passed around, and as the Elezen squinted inquisitively at the small wire-mesh basket with comically long handle, Fufucha made her final address.

"Winter cares not for our wishes, and while many will scowl for the cold's apparent cruelty, we must remind ourselves that even nature deserves her well earned rest. It is a time for the trees to lay barren, for frailer plants to withdraw and await Spring's warmer winds, but few ever take the time to understand- These are not tragedies or endings that warrant grief, they are the exhale of a land lulled to sleep at turn's end, the foundation for coming Spring's richer soil, and as we've honored today? We weather the chill so that we may better enjoy warmth upon our skin at sun's return. As we enjoy this meal made all the more appetizing by our repetitive toiling in her Winter's chill, let us give thanks, for it's through Nophica's graces that we may partake, and it's through our joint efforts that we may continue to honor that which she gifts us each turn".

For such a small woman, she possessed wisdom well beyond Silvairre's initial expectations.

With a whooping cheer, the crowd devolved into amiable chatter as they helped themselves, baskets filled with all manner of produce and held within the still simple soup that boiled betwixt them. Ah, it all made sense now, they would share their individual meals from the same source, sampling the results each of them had worked so hard for, and in some cases so far from home. Caught staring at particularly familiar greenery as he packed it within personal basket, Fufucha surprised him with the revelation that even he, with his large hands and lack of green thumb, had contributed to this table. Knowing that he'd planted what grew into a fine spinach, Silvairre found it to be the best he'd ever tasted.

Slowly simmering away, their once plain soup took on an appetizing color, a rich stock that held everything a quick boil pulled from their food, not a single thing wasted. The first sip brought forth satisfied sigh, and as everyone relaxed to share friendly conversation with stomachs stuffed full of their own hard work, he finally understood the point of their intricate ordeal.

Or at least, he'd thought so. It wasn't until dark, golden jars of aged sweetness were opened once prior meal was cleared, that he properly gained an appreciation for it all. A treat you won't enjoy until a full turn from now, a meal earned through hard work, composed of things each of you labored to provide and share amongst each other, just as nature had shared with you. It took what might have ordinarily seemed a simple sweet and convoluted method of cooking, and turned them into something special. Something to look forward to, and something to look back on.

Watching Nina happily nibble on the sugary treasure beside him, he wondered if together they could taste those they'd prepared that very morning. Perhaps they'd taste all the sweeter for having passed through their hands.

Resting at his usual spot against the wall whilst Leih left to refill her canteen, Silvairre became keenly aware of the presence looming- Or rather, loitering beside him. A cursory glance over to his left precedes an eye-roll, and with a barely contained sigh he said;

"Yes, Piers?"

Stone faced in an attempt to stave off his own awkwardness, the Hyur simply grimaced for a moment longer, swallowing his pride as best he could before addressing the elephant in the room.

"So are... Are the two of you actually together?".

His scowl must have visibly deepened, Piers' own nervous demeanor fracturing around the edges as sweaty seconds tick past. Is he not a grown man? How childish.

"I presume you mean Nina?".

"Y-yeah-".

"No." Comes too quick of an answer, anticipation welling in his colleague's eyes.

"Then... Please, if there's any advice you can give, I'm BEGGING for it" He announces, voice strained as he bows to placate the taller man, desperate enough to seek his aid in the one area where Silvairre truly stands above all others. Nina's trust.

Considering him for a moment with a harsh squint, Silvairre feels himself ready to outright refuse. Ridiculous, who was he to come begging for assistance over such a thing? And yet here he was, genuinely voicing desperation and a willingness to listen.

For a moment, it occurred to him that he had no right to negatively impact someone's chances of initiating a relationship with the Miqo'te. If Piers was debasing himself to beg, Silvairre would be worse to outright deny.

"So you're intending to court her, then? Or attempt to, I should say." Compliance did not require coddling.

"Gods permit...".

"Why?".

"What?".

"Why do you intend to do so? 'Tis not a complicated question." It was a very complicated question.

Lifting his gaze, Piers pulled a face and rubbed awkwardly at sweating neck, skin brightened by embarrassment at how blunt his 'savior' spoke of things.

"Well- She's cute".

"Cute.".

"Yeah, y'know... Real sweet and quiet, too. She only really comes here to see you, so it's not like I know her that well- Why do you think I'm coming to you?".

"So you're interested because she appears timid and silent." He was twisting things. He knew this. Admitting it was another story.

"What? No! I just- Look, haven't you ever just... Looked at someone and liked them? Thought- Hey, every time I see this person I feel a certain way, maybe I should get to know them?".

"I can't say that I have".

"By the Twelve, you really do have no pulse..." A hand is dragged down his face in despair.

Grumbling under his breath, Silvairre's own embarrassment brings uncomfortable flush to his features, arms crossed defensively as he attempts to ease up and offer something constituting real, functional advice. How to woo her, what would work...

"She enjoys sweets." He starts, not missing the way Piers' attention immediately snaps back into focus, "Furthermore, she's a botanist so I imagine she'd enjoy flowers- Though it's hardly the season...".

He'd known her long enough, surely he could put together a proper plan.

"Do not enter her space unless she herself ushers you in, nor should you attempt to coax physical touch if there is an ilm of discomfort on display. She has a tendency to... Wiggle, when excited. If the motion is centered at her seat or toes, she is merely engaged or looking forwards to whatever is about to take place. If her shoulders are the focus instead, then there is something on her mind and she either lacks the words or courage to voice it appropriately. Her ears betray more about her mood than can be explained in simple words, if you intend to know her as a person then it would serve you well to pay attention to them. Do not press her about the absence of her tail. Take care not to imply you wish to engage in inappropriate dalliances with her, it will end poorly. She startles easily, activities that involve sudden scares or unexpected noises will not aid your cause. Do not take her fishing, I will not elaborate, it is simply a poor idea." A veritable grocery list of requirements, fired off as they came to mind.

"... Anything else?" Piers cautiously asked, a little stunned by Silvairre's idea of relationship advice.

"As a matter of fact, yes..." Pushing himself off of the wall, the Elezen opted to step in close, looming over the shorter man with arms still folded and maintaining uncomfortable eye contact to promise- "If you were to even consider taking advantage of her, whether it be her kindness or whatever trust she deigns to place in you, no senior rank nor head start scrambling will save you." From what, he didn't specify. There was no need to.

Awkwardly agreeing to the terms laid before him, Piers proceeded to scramble indeed, racing for the door while shouting his thanks like a man too scared to look back. It was the eavesdropping Chansteloup's turn to receive a questioning raise of Silvairre's brow, fellow Elezen simply sighing to add;

"Is it truly such a good idea to encourage him?".

He had a point. A point Silvairre had already contended with.

"Far be it from me to select her suitors, the choice should ever be hers and hers alone".

Keeping following thoughts to himself, a simple hum was the only response received.

Chapter Text

After begging Silvairre for advice like a man starved, the Elezen had expected Piers to concoct some strangely public declaration of interest- Perhaps he'd offer her some hand-written letter or attempt to play a tune as he sang? Gods forbid, the desperation on display painted pictures of the Hyur asking for her hand in front of the whole guild, as if he could wait no longer to secure a bride.

Yet, nothing of the sort came to pass. Sure, his personal distaste for the man may have played part in ridiculous assumptions, but he'd neither seen nor heard of any shows of romanticism, all he did was engage in passing pleasantries whenever they happened upon each other in public, or she chanced to come and see Silvairre himself within the guildhall.

It was during one such short exchange that he realized his own foolishness, watching as Nina calmly engaged with him without flinch or frantic search for her guard, as Piers asked of her recent excursions as a Botanist and her hunt for the perfect little home- He'd never intended to attempt some grandiose display, and he wasn't half the fool Silvairre took him for.

Piers was truly attempting to gain her trust, first and foremost. To be able to call her a friend before seeking more.

Could he be blamed for not realizing sooner? Romance was one of the few things he felt truly blind to, wetter behind the ears than a newborn loosing it's first cry. Perhaps he should invite his former colleague to join when Leih next appropriated his table for one of her myriad games?.

Something about assisting another in their attempt to woo Nina left an unfamiliar discomfort to slowly bubble within him, brewing steadily whenever he saw the two of them speaking or thought of the hypothetical future in which she clung to Piers' arm instead of his.

Likely doing little to help him, was the Miqo'te's newfound preference for using his lap as a seat. Entirely innocent in her approach, she simply enjoyed the passive affection, and what started as a convenient way for her to better see the board during one fateful game of- Whatever they'd played, hard pressed as he was to focus- Fast became habit for the little woman. Newfound altitude did little to diminish her propensity to wiggle, nor did it spare him from the way she'd lean up and rub giddily against his neck and jaw when sleepy. Molars near cracked from the strength with which he grit them, at least he could spare direct contact by leaning forwards to keep her rump upon his knees. At the cost, of course, of growing more accessible to her freely lavished affections.

To say he disliked the attention, the weight and warmth she provided... It would be blatant lie, and he felt oddly shamed by the fact his body enjoyed it too much. It plagued him, left him frozen for moments at a time when wrestling with the way a brush of her nose to suddenly sensitive jaw sent shivers along his limbs, turned his breath to fire as heat pooled precisely where he wished it wouldn't. It left him feeling as though he were some hormone laden youngster, struggling to come to grips with the basics of attraction.

He'd dabbled of course, as he expected most did- Behind the privacy of closed doors, in shame and secrecy that should never be spoken, at least not by any of respectable standing. But curiosity was a powerful force, as were the troubles of youth, a once common occurrence as he weathered puberty now no more than an occasional indulgence for whenever the mood struck or stress prompted tending.

Yet never had he laid here like this, flushed and flustered and wanting, unable to sleep on account of the near painful ache in his loins. The cause? A sigh of warm breath across his neck, and the nuzzle of her nose as she hugged him goodbye. It was wrong- Cruel, even, to be riled up by someone so utterly sundered by such sinful desires, the heat on his cheeks in no small part made manifest by private embarrassment.

Seven hells, he had to do something.

Snaking a hand below the waist of his night-things, he took hold of traitorous flesh and hissed a breath out through his nose at pulsing heat, free arm left to rest over his eyes- As if covering them granted temporary reprieve from shame. He just needed some form of relief.

How would he even go about it? Ravage her right there at the table once all others had left for the eve? No, that simply wouldn't do- He should lay her sweetly upon softest surface, be it his bed or hers, it mattered not which. Yes, with her hair fanned around her as it had been that one drunken eve, where she'd trailed her fingers across ears he never knew could crave such touch, where she bid that he stay and warm her.

But she'd spent much of her time under other men without the agency to deny, 'twould not be fair to force such a position upon her even if only for fantasy's sake. Atop him, then? Straddling his hips with her own? It would allow him to look upon her, and he couldn't deny the appeal of it as he twitched within his hand. Clothing? Would she undress for him? Should he assist with the task? The thought of leaving her bare when her preference was clearly the opposite brought a frown to his features. No, there'd be no need, a simple shifting of clothes to accommodate for their union would suffice.

A union he hadn't the slightest clue about. How it might feel, how to best prepare her, how to provide a pleasant experience... In his mind's eye she was awash with wetness in anticipation of the act, shy but eager as she so often seemed in the face of appealing activities. 'Twould be her pace of entry, her right to sink however deep was well and comfortable given how truly small she was in comparison, and obediently he would lay beneath her with one hand gently cradling hers, the other upon her thigh as she rested her own free hand atop his belly. Slowly would she sink, taking whatever amount she could without harm and sighing sweetly to the stretch, rolling her hips in an almost exploratory manner as they both grew used to newfound pleasure.

Oh what sweet succor it would be, to lay beneath her and watch as soft cheeks grew rosy with bliss, to see her pant and plead for more, perhaps even spilling his name from her lips like the purest prayer until exertion pulled her to lay atop his chest, trusting him to lead the last leg of their dance. Silvairre's hips bucked, eyes scrunched shut for in that moment he lay buried within, deep in the fantasy that gripped him tightly and coaxed breathy groans as he rocked her oh so gently, spare hand cradling her cheek so that he may lean upwards and capture plump lips in a gentle kiss.

Too much, and yet far from enough. Skin burned deliciously as stalwart composure lost the battle at last, and with a crude exclamation he came undone, filling his partner with the evidence of their tryst in hot spurts that sent a shudder through her limbs, soft cries music to ears that craved no other tune. For that single blissful moment, he'd coupled so sweetly with the object of his unruly desires.

Reality returned to remind him such sights were a lie, trousers soiled with the evidence of sin committed even if only through thought. Panting, he removed the arm guarding flushed face, staring plainly at his wooden ceiling with what little light the night provided. He'd satisfied base desires, for a time- But at what cost? For the admittance of such a wish had led to most unfortunate understanding, and as he squirmed free of laundry that could wait for the morrow, a deep scowl settled upon previously peaceful features.

To crave something forbidden brought unfamiliar terror, as the most appealing part of imaginary intimacy had been the thought of claiming her lips.

He couldn't very well pursue someone after encouraging another to stake their claim, nor could he break her trust by admitting that within him lay a craving for more. Not merely for the unspeakable deeds he'd imagined between them, but for sweeter affections, soft spoken words, for the ability to share her bed and cradle himself around her warmth as if it were the most natural thing to do.

No, lacking in both knowledge and practice as he was, he could not provide her with the proper romance she deserved- Nor with a pleasurable experience should it ever reach that point. This fool of a man who could hardly answer for his own misgivings... How utterly undeserving he was. How exploitative it would be to even try.

Never truly one to engage with the smaller festivities, the lead up to Valentione's day flew under Silvairre's nose as it always did, cutesy decorations and abundance of hearts relegated to the back of his mind as just another shift in season's hue. The exact date was no different, and he continued to practice his art amongst like-minded peers without a thought spared to whatever romantic happenings transpired throughout town.

Yet, it is difficult to ignore that which presents itself before you of it's own accord, and Nina's arrival to the guildhall with basket overladen drew curious chatter as she retrieved a little parcel of waxed paper and ribbon, offering it out to Leih with a season's greetings. Shifting her attention around the room for other intended recipients, she left Leih to her happy munching and offered similarly wrapped parcel out to Chansteloup, the Elezen visibly surprised by her offering though gracious in accepting.

Words were quickly exchanged, and as Chansteloup excused himself to the Quiver's barracks beyond where Silvairre stood watching, he caught fading sound of the former's voice before the door shut behind him.

"Piers? She's here you miserable dolt, stop hiding an-".

Attention lingering a moment longer, the call of his own name near startled Silvairre as Nina waved from the sidelines, unwilling or perhaps thinking herself unwelcome to step foot along the range. Lifting a hand to return the greeting, he tidied away his equipment and stepped down to properly offer a moment of his time.

"Cicely said today's important," She'd explained, checking over her little parcels until finding one that bore his name, "She said, you can make and give sweets to friends and loved ones, to let them know that you appreciate them- So I made cookies for both!".

Carefully cupping the little bundle in his palm, Silvairre forced himself to swallow swirling thoughts and smile for her, offering gratitude that came genuinely for being included.

Peaceful quiet ended as Piers near cracked the door in half, emerging from the barracks already red and sweating, at a speed that made Silvairre wonder if he intended to run right past them and disappear into the town. Instead, he skid to a stop while barely sparing the wall his full weight, neatly wrapped parcel held in hands that trembled terribly as he stuttered through what were normally easygoing greetings.

He knew this song and dance well enough, no doubt the gift he held was intended for an exchange with Nina, it's contents some form of romantically themed confection that while unlikely made by hand, was no doubt selected with a purpose . Best to do the polite thing and step away, allow the pair a more private moment of romance as Piers offered it out to her with a plea that she accept. Or- Private as could be when everyone side eyed the exchange, himself included.

The Miqo'te seemed taken aback that there was a gift for her in return, hugging the box to her chest upon being presented with it and thanking her awkward admirer earnestly as she did so. His own gift was given next, and he held it in both hands as if afraid it might evaporate, boyishly giddy that she'd included him if only as a friend and promising to savor every last bite of her handiwork. Off she went to deliver the rest, basket still heavy with sweets for Botanists and- Unless Silvairre's eyes deceived him- for Ardbert and Buscarron. No sooner had she departed and Piers was already unwrapping his gift to make due on silly promise, retrieving one of many flower shaped cookies half-dipped in chocolate, and declaring to no one in particular that the Gods smiled upon him that day.

Perhaps they had, Silvairre thought. Perhaps this was the start of whatever tale Piers would tell his children when they asked of their origin. That a simple exchange of sweets on a day reserved for love's sweet succor had finally drawn them together.

Challenging this were the contents of his own gift, however. Opened in the privacy of his own home, once supper was spoken for and the idea of sweets drew him in, he found himself given pause as the cookies she'd gifted him were different. Heart shaped, filled with dried berries and dipped in the same rich smelling chocolate as their flower shaped friends, reminding him of the myriad Valentione's themed cookies and cakes that filled baker's shelves this time of year. Had she mistakenly filled his parcel with the wrong sort? Were the labels she'd attached somehow switched on accident?

No, she'd spoken of friends and 'loved ones', perhaps her interpretation simply meant those she was closest with counted for such? He could always ask Fufucha what sort of sweets she and the others received... Regardless, it brought embarrassed blush to the surface as he sampled them, struggling not to extrapolate inappropriate interpretation from her gesture as sweetness graced his tongue. These were the only manner in which he might ever receive her heart, and he'd be a fool to waste a single crumb. But he'd given nothing in return, jaded as he was against such holidays. Is it not polite to reciprocate?

... Was he merely searching for an excuse to do so?

Telling himself time and time again that it would not be appropriate, that she was not for him, that this infatuation was silly and likely an insult to the trust she placed in him to begin with... It did little to quieten the voice that told him he'd be daft to waste such a chance, and twice as daft to neglect giving proper thanks.

And so, t'was a week from the date in question when a bouquet of lavender and rose arrived at the Carline Canopy's reception, addressed to Nina via name rather than room number and lacking either card or sender's signature. For her not to know he'd sent it would be a kindness to them both, or so he'd told himself as he cowered in the face of attaching anything that could identify him.

"Silvairre!".

In she'd rushed, bright eyed and brimming with excitement as he tended to bows in desperate need of re-stringing. Her call brought mild interest as those within the guild grew accustomed to her presence, Nina herself slowly shedding discomfort long held near them in return, aided by the moderate closeness she'd found with a few of their own.

"To what do I owe such a visit?" He asked, brow raised though sharp eyes remained on tender task.

"I found one!" She exclaimed, needing no clarification for the end of lengthy search. "I can't move in yet, the owners still have to finish some repairs- But they said if I provide the materials for it, they can re-fence the garden for me as well!".

Ah, so that's what sold her on the property.

"Sounds lovely, is it far from the growery?".

"Nope! It's tucked away near Apkallu falls. There's a few other houses there too, but they're all too big for me".

Humming appreciatively, he finished securing fresh string and placed the refurbished bow back amongst it's brethren, collecting the small pile of refuse remaining and standing to dispose of it all. She followed as expected, and he continued amiable conversation with a level of casual calm that'd settled to be their new norm.

"Well, I'd suspect most houses would be too large for you- Are you certain they aren't merely selling you an old shoe-box?". He joked, graced with an earnest giggle only he could properly conjure.

"It's a house, really! It's a little bit smaller than yours, but not that small. I have a big job to do for Fufucha, and if I make sure I get them all the stuff they need before I go? It might be ready once I get back".

"Oh? Your first foreign order?" Not unheard of, most Botanists left the Shroud at least once or twice a turn to fulfill demands the Twelveswood couldn't meet.

"Mhm, apparently we're really really short on mistletoe. Fufucha said it's something the Twin Adders can't do without, since it's used in the best potions their alchemists can make".

"Mistletoe?" He paused, offering quizzical glance, "... Are there not two varieties growing within the Shroud?". He should know, he'd helped her collect plenty of both.

"But those are different- She said it has to be the kind that grows in the cold, since it's a hardier kind. It's more potent, without being more toxic. If you tried to distill tinolqa or matron's into something equally strong, it might just turn into a kind of poison instead".

"Coerthas it is then, I suppose?".

Now free of his burden, Silvairre rested a hand at his hip and leant spare fore-arm atop the fence separating their guildhall from the river below. His question is answered with merely a nod, and signs of just how nervous she truly is begin to bleed through prior enthusiasm. Ah, just as he'd thought, she's scared stiff at the prospect of going.

"Any particular reason Fufucha assigned you the task?".

"No, I... I asked. I heard her talking to Leonceault about all of the orders that were coming in, and about how they didn't have anyone spare to fill them, so...".

"So you volunteered?".

"I wanted- Want to help, and Fufucha said the guild could send an escort with me since I've never been, I'm just-" Tilting herself forwards, the Miqo'te rested her forehead against favored friend's middle in search of quiet comfort, and he obliged with a hand upon pink head. "Nervous. Excited to see somewhere new, too! But still nervous".

Humming his understanding, he offered her hair a light ruffling in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Well, any idea who they'll assign for such a task?" Fantasies fluttered in of being the one to accompany her, of offering shared warmth as they made camp, of pressing his lips to cold fingers- No, stop that. He hadn't the slightest idea how to reach or navigate the frozen wasteland of Coerthas.

She shook her head no, voicing interest in what it might be like despite her fear, expressing an interest in the supposed softness of snow despite technically being ice. Come to find in the following days that Piers would receive the honors, one of the few without pressing duty who held experience in traveling through the central highlands. Palpably delighted and toting it as his chance to grow closer with the woman he'd been slowly attempting to court, Silvairre thought bitterly on the possibility of welcoming both as a couple upon their return.

Fantasy may serve it's purpose in a moment of desperation, but realizing someone else may get to live it for true?

It stung.

Unaccustomed to jealousy of an intimate nature, Silvairre merely squirmed within it's hold.

Chapter Text

Strange how the absence of one or two faces can mean so much when your friends are few and far between. With Ardbert off on whatever secretive "Adventuring business, and stuff" had taken his attention, and Nina knee deep in Coerthan snow, Silvairre was left to his lonesome. Mostly. Leih insisted on making her presence known, and while a roll of his eyes or scoff at outrageous jest may appear unimpressed, in truth he was grateful for her presence.

Rather than truly shoo her off, he'd found it easier than ever anticipated to simply... Socialize. Sure they arranged little gatherings amongst their small group of friends, sharing meals or playing board-games, on occasion even assisting each other with household tasks. But to socialize openly in public was different, and the usually private Elezen found a surprising level of comfort in the Miqo'te's company as they traversed the markets in search of whatever afternoon snack might take their fancy.

It became routine, oft bringing an extra baked good or drink to-go when arriving at the guildhall, partners in crime sharing menial morning's banter while waiting on their guild's newest to arrive in search of instruction, and leaving together until their paths split for the journey home- If they hadn't decided to share a meal in one of their own homes first. By the time a full seven suns passed, Silvairre realized with quiet contentment that he'd begun looking forwards to it.

In a way, it was reassurance that his presence truly was wanted, rather than simply tolerated.

"Mmmm, okay- The tall one with the miss-matched eyes, and the little short guy with the funny hat. I'll bet you ten gil" Leih offered over a mouthful of freshly baked scone, nodding to some of their newest inductions as they took to practicing on the outdoor butts.

"Truly? Those two?" He'd asked in return, pausing with steaming tea half-way to his mouth.

'Twas a curious game they'd started playing, making silly bets as they watched their colleagues' students practice in wait of their own, attempting to ascertain the group's dynamic without yet properly knowing each member.

"Uh-huh, they're totally eyeing each other up".

"It appears to me as though they hate each other, though" He argued, squinting at the scene before them as the two in question rubbed shoulders to retrieve loosed arrows, grumbling expletives as they got in each other's way.

"Yeah, they wanna kiss so bad it makes them look stupid".

Near wasting his beverage, Silvairre choked on hot tea. What in Nophica's good name was this woman talking about? Pleased with the response, she snorted down her own laughter and buried it behind another bite, letting her friend simmer in silence before launching her next attack.

"You're really bad at the whole romance thing, huh" More statement than question, earning her an indignant look as she innocently chewed.

"Why, because we are of differing opinions?" Snark failed to subdue obvious embarrassment, and following her example he buried the expression behind his breakfast.

"No, I think you're just... I dunno, I don't think there's anything wrong with you, I think you're just really new to it?".

New to-

"Pardon?".

Pausing mid-chew, the Miqo'te raised her eyes to him, holding him in her sights with a stone-faced expression of disbelief. No, he was at least mildly self aware, there was no way he hadn't at least some inkling of his own feelings- Nor did she think she'd misjudged his tells so severely.

"You know Bertie and I can see you getting all flustered, right? When Nina gets all cuddly?".

Choking in earnest this time, the Elezen smacked a palm to his chest in an attempt to dislodge lost liquid from his lungs, stares of those too far to properly eavesdrop doing nothing to aid in his attempted facade of stoicism. Utterly refusing to indulge in whatever look she wears upon catching him red-handed, he veers eyes off into the grass below and quiets his voice to mutter out;

"Yes well- It's simply embarrassing to be doted upon so openly..." Silence, she wasn't buying it and he knew it. "Fine, but if I may ask a single kindness of you, it's that not a word of this reach anyone else". Came strained sounding relent.

For now, admission quelled his friend's vigorous curiosity, and she offered a series of firm pats to his back in silent assurance that his secret was safe- Poorly kept as it may already be. The object of affections most unexpected would be back amongst them within the next two to three suns, and he hoped by then Leih's curiosity would latch onto something else for a time.

Come the fifteenth sun of absence, open concern began spreading amongst the Botanists and Archers alike, each missing one of their own for a sizeable chunk of time longer than expected. Talks of securing the next person knowledgeable enough of the land to lead a small rescue party bounced back and forth between guilds, an increase in Ixali activity spreading available candidates thin enough already. Rumors that Garuda was soon to be summoned had tensions high, the threat she posed if given physical form far outweighing the loss of a single Botanist and the lone member of the Quiver that guided her.

To those in charge, it was merely an unfortunate circumstance. To those that knew them, however, the situation was a blanket of bleakness over what had otherwise been a period of prosperity for both guilds. Sure, the God's Quiver were beholden to their cause first and foremost, but they still trained and loitered about the same space as the Archer's guild proper, hand in hand as was always their intention.

Coming to the same conclusion as each other, both Leih and Silvairre invested personal time to searching within their own borders, joined by an equally concerned Chansteloup as word reached of their intent. Perhaps, if Nymeia deigned to smile upon them, the pair would be holed up somewhere within the Twelveswood, simply waiting for assistance to find them. A Botanist and an Archer, no doubt through combined skills they could provide for one another in an emergency, but what might give comfort at a glance only served to heighten concern as such an advantage hadn't aided in their return.

Beyond an old campfire near border's edge that held no guarantee of their involvement, the trio found nothing, all other traces long since weathered away or covered by those who followed.

Instead, the answer found it's way to them- Or rather, to Quarrymill. News of a young Archer on death's door, barely managing to stumble his way into view of the Wailers that guarded the little settlement's gates, muttering feverish and nigh incomprehensibly of 'rot'. Set up at the inn with immediate tending, Piers was hardly in a state to care for infected lesions, let alone offer sensible recount of how they'd been acquired. 

Chansteloup glued himself beside bed-ridden friend, awkward in his stature as he welcomed both Leih and Silvairre into the room with fear for the questions bound to flood from them. Respectfully silent instead, they simply glanced over Piers' sweat-soaked form, taking in the sight of bruises peeking from below dressings that decorated unnaturally pale skin. Breath yet filled his lungs, ragged as it may be, and cemented itself as the only sound as they merely waited for him to awaken from much needed slumber.

The chirurgeon in charge of his care had refused them much information beyond stating stability, assuring them those who needed to know of his condition would be informed, and that the rest was not for him to simply spread. It did little to ease tensions, painting instead a myriad pictures of how he'd ended up in such a state, of who might be responsible. Splints held no lie alongside injuries unconcealed, individually broken fingers and bruised nose speaking of man to be the instigator rather than some wild beast.

Surprising himself, Silvairre felt a quiet rage prickling beneath his skin. Not for the lack of Nina, but for the sight of someone he'd once called a brother in arms being left in such a state, to fight for his life while they sat upon their thumbs with naught but rasped breathing to assure he still lived.

If Piers lived through this, mayhaps 'twould not be so bad to invite him and Chansteloup both to their next get together. Whether that chance would ever present itself again, no one could yet be certain.

Thundering it's way up the stairs came another threat to the poor lad's life, Alleyne shouting after the source to scold before a boot forced the door open. Startled guests rose to their feet, all promptly ignored as the male Miqo'te stomped his way to Piers' bedside and reached muscled arm towards the sickly sleeper. Chansteloup intercepted with firm grip on stranger's wrist, outraged by the manner in which this man had dared to help himself.

"He's resting, and who in the seven hells even are you?!".

"Yeah, I can tell. You tried slapping him awake yet?" He asked with a dismissive snort, "I'm Thal's arsecrack for all it matters, now shove off and let me get this kid's brain working".

Yanking extended arm free, he placed it's twin to Chansteloup's chest and gave a firm shove, Leih skittering behind him in an attempt to catch someone twice her size. In a flash, unnamed stranger descended upon Piers once more, slapping at his face before gripping either side of the younger man's jaw as he coughed out startled wheeze, staring bleary eyes into ocean blue framed by a mess of dusty pink strands.

"Where the fuck is your charge, boy?" He growled out, pleased by the recognition that sparked some form of lucidity in otherwise unfocused eyes.

Ah, he was looking for Nina.

"...'n th'... the rot" He wheezed, earning an angered groan from his assailant at lack of clarity, "Takers" Was the best addition he could provide.

"Takers' Rot?" Chansteloup put together, bewilderment riding his voice.

Immediately dropping Piers back to the bed, unwelcome guest pointed almost accusingly towards the Elezen, as if he hadn't just shoved him into the arms of smaller friend.

"You. Explain." Demanded rather than requested.

With a firm set scowl of his own, Chansteloup reached for the hand Silvairre now offered, fellow Elezen finally shaking shock from himself to act. Once back on his feet, he glanced to ensure Leih received similar courtesy, and after straightening out his attire alongside a stiff clearing of the throat he answered;

"Takers' Rot is a portion of the Southern Shroud over-run by poachers, specifically by a gang of such individuals known as the Coeurlclaws. Keepers of the Moon they may be, and mostly women as expected, but it appears they are led by a man who asserted himself as king of their collective. 'Tis all I know of their inner workings. They are known for being particularly vicious towards outsiders, a great many Wood Wailers cut down in manners purposefully perverse..." His gaze wandered to barely living friend, anguish alight inside at the thought of how this came to be, "Many young women of the Moon's tribe are said to have been lured away by this 'King' of theirs, though I am uncertain how true such a claim is, and how much of it is merely folklore gifted by the masses".

"Know where it is?".

"Roughly. It's-"

"Good, lead the way".

"I beg your pardon?".

"Are you deaf? I said lead the way. I'm not wasting time on maps and instructions when your fucker of a friend left my niece there".

Before supposed uncle could lunge for Chansteloup next, Silvairre cut in with his own well-placed doubts, arms firmly crossed as he stared the wild man down.

"Nina doesn't have any remaining relatives besides her grandmother.".

"What?" Confused now, buff arms were tossed outwards in an expression of bewilderment, "Who in Nald's nards is that? Ain't this the kid that took Nhio up through Coerthas?".

Ah, her 'real' name. None of the people who'd harmed her ever knew it.

"But Madam Nelbah said-".

"Yeah? I don't give a mummer's fart what the old bitch did or didn't say. You try getting disowned and then see if your Ma gloats about you to strangers." Disgruntled, though mildly flustered at the personal turn of talking, he set his sights back on Chansteloup and nodded towards the door.

Alright, perhaps he really did have the misfortune of being related to the cranky old Miqo'te. Stepping between his fellow Elezen and the insistent Infiltrator, Silvairre forced long-standing stiffness to relax, attempting to truly appear more passive than what was comfortable for him. Nina's uncle raised exasperated brow and made a motion with his hand as if to coax Silvairre spit it out already, clearly thin on patience at the lack of compliance thus far.

"She's our friend-".

"Then stop getting in my way".

"We're not," he insisted, frustrated at the interruption. "I mean to ask that you not go by yourselves. Or if Chansteloup would prefer to remain with Piers, then I mean to offer guidance in his stead".

"Piers will be fine without me while he rests. She's friend to the both of us as well, remember..." It's said quietly, with a little nod towards the man in question "... As are you".

"I don't care who else tags along, just go" Dismissed the impatient Miqo'te, ushering both other men towards the door.

Flustered by Chansteloup's open admission, Silvairre cast a glance towards remaining friend, only to find her right at his heel with that hard-set look upon her face. The kind she'd worn when insisting he allow both herself and Ardbert be allowed to aid him in chasing mistakes of the past. This time, however, he simply offered her a weary smile in silent gratitude and fell in-step beside accepted assistance, passing thought spared to consider just how things had changed between them.

Takers' Rot positioned itself in what was likely one of the most strategically defensible spots the Southern Shroud had to offer, their main encampment surrounded by steep drops in forest's floor, creating a corridor of death for anyone who braved to reach the heart of their little settlement. Watchtowers and carefully crafted camouflage allowed them to keep eyes and arrows at the ready with little personal risk, while a veritable horde of Goblins made use of flatter lands between their territory and Quarrymill.

In short, only suicidal fools would step willing feet within Coeurlclaw territory.

Proclaiming himself a seasoned adventurer, Nina's unnamed uncle made to act like such a fool, grilling the small group for details on the terrain as they went, unbothered by threats of numbers or of Goblins, and upon crossing paths with a number of the strange little beast-folk channeled some strange spell that set them all to sleep where they stood, much like-

"Is that not the same manner in which a treant incapacitates it's enemies?" Chansteloup asked, making similar connection as his equally observant companions.

"Hm? Yeah".

"How-".

"If you asked every adventurer that does things a little different 'How' and 'Why', you'd still be getting new answers by the tenth astral era. Ain't it magic these beasts use in the first place? Not so hard to think someone might wanna learn it for themselves".

Suddenly, Ardbert started seeming much more like a normal person in comparison- At least, as far as unique talents went.

"Were your family not Archers?" Silvairre inquired with little thought, poorly concealed curiosity prompting raise of stranger's brow.

"What? Yeah I guess. It's not really a calling, it's just something we did. Fucked off to Ul'dah and traded it in for a shield and a blade first chance I got, though".

Eye twitching, the Elezen held his tongue, reflexively ready to spit out some undue comment about how it was typical he abandon their prized art. He supposed, if his own family had raised him within a field he did not come to love, he may have done similar.

"Did that not prove to be your calling, either?"

"Ehh- Closer, at least. No, Blue magic's the only thing that really scratches that itch for me. Don't gotta worry about a weapon or anything, it's all in here" He explained, tapping his temple. "At least, if you can live long enough to learn a few good spells. Wrasslin' with a pumped up Master Coeurl ain't gonna work out well for everyone!".

He laughed at that, thinking himself hilarious and resting hands at his hips to tip dusted pink skywards. Oh boy, the longer they suffered his presence, the less Silvairre fancied their chances of survival, let alone success.

"Right, so we're going in the arse end. I want the lot of you up and out of the way, pretend you're covering me if that helps. I clean up large groups better if I do it by myself. If we're lucky? I'll grab this fancy king of theirs by the throat and use him to... Encourage the others".

"The more you speak, the further I am convinced we should have returned and awaited proper assistance..." Muttered Chansteloup, horrified by the brazen plan this man was subjecting them to.

"Fuck that, no. If this asshole fancies himself some kinda 'man of the house', he's probably twisting how Seeker tribes run things, keeping anyone that catches his eye as part of a harem. I'm not tip toeing around Gridania waiting for some arsewipe of an Elemental to decide whether or not my family's worth their time. Sorry, but if you're gonna run like a babe, you can fuck off after showing me to their back door".

An awkward silence befell them after that, none willing to leave despite the reckless demands of the stranger amongst them. With roots and outcroppings of rock as footholds, the quartet snuck their way as quietly as they could up to their inconvenient point of entry, trained archers well equipped to traverse the forest with silent steps while their fourth stepped lighter still. Scanning the encampment below, suicidal savior nodded towards shaded incline, gesturing for the three of them to stay put as he slowly inched his way down.

Blast this man and his apparent penchant for danger. All three took up positions behind awkwardly angled trees and shelves of stone stirred up by the calamity, bows at the ready in case the need for cover became reality rather than intended insult. With the orange tinge of a sun slowly beginning it's descent, the scene below was one of afternoon revelry, provisions presumably stolen and eagerly shared amongst women who joked amongst themselves and lounged about- With the exception of those guarding along their camp's cramped entryway.

Centered within this farce of luxury, a dark haired man with streaks of vibrant red sat back against his seat of choice, one woman draped atop his lap and another with her rump on the floor, head resting against his leg. Shamelessly flirting as hands wandered freely, he made no secret of the relationship between them, trailing fingers through the messy hair of his second companion while the first claimed his lips eagerly. The sly stares of jealousy fellow females cared little to hide spoke of how dysfunctional this dynamic truly was, and yet none of them were willing to concede defeat and simply leave, well aware each of them had nowhere to return to after committing the crimes their King commanded.

With a blur of sudden movement, their infiltrator selected one of many reveling women and accosted her from behind, hooking her arms behind her back with his own and grasping hair firmly near the nape of her neck, one leg woven between her own to swiftly throw her off balance. Her cry drew complete attention, eerie silence broken only by her incessant thrashing as she spat and hissed.

"Well well well, another wayward male comes to try and topple my crown. I must say, to brave the outer wall and reveal yourself in the midst of my kingdom is admirable of you, though I can't say I appreciate the way you're handling what's mine." Rising from his seat as the camp's inhabitants surrounded him, he stepped towards his prey and held out a hand. "Return my flower to me, and perhaps I will consider killing you quickly".

"Yeah?" He scoffed, "How about you take your own advice then? Return my kin, and you can have yours".

"Your kin?" The King tilted his head, regarding the man before him critically for a moment before humming in understanding, "Ahh I see, you speak of the little pink peony my other flowers brought into our garden. I'm afraid you don't understand, the moment she was brought to me, she was delivered from a life of terrible cruelty and into my waiting arms- Much as any other beauty you see surrounding us. Here she is safe, and perfectly suited to teach my offspring how to make use of the land's bounty".

Staring each other down through a thick fog of tension, tails lashed and smacked at the ground, pent up energy seeking some form of release despite stifling stillness.

"You're playing Nunh, aren't you supposed to welcome challenges with open arms?".

"I follow no foreign creed, the rules are mine and mine alone".

"So you're too afraid to prove your worth?".

Playful smirk dropping, a spark of rage fueled proud King's ego, and he regarded the invader with a look that hid none of his desire to maim uninvited challenger. To sneak into his Kingdom, lay hands on one of his flowers, to insinuate he was a coward... It would not stand.

Fine, the fool could make an example of himself.

"My dears," He addressed, turning softer eyes to the furious women around him, "Pray, allow me to demonstrate that your safety at my side is absolute. Let your King cripple this cur, you may do as you wish with whatever remains".

Obediently clearing a circle for the combatants to be, eager observers spoke praises for their love, encouraging him to show this wanton outsider what happens to those who challenge him. With arms open in silent demand, the King requested challenger's hostage be released, and as her assailant shoved her forwards she all but rushed towards promised safety, burying her face to his chest in shame with ears lowered and tail betwixt her legs.

"My King, I- I'm sorry, I failed you, I'm not-".

"Shhh," He soothed, cupping her cheeks and lifting hidden face to press his lips upon her brow, "Sweet Dahlia you were merely taken by surprise, I've no doubt of your worth. Go, fetch me my arms so I may cut your confidence free from this charlatan's flesh".

Obedient to his whims, she scurried off to retrieve both shield and blade, fastening the protective plate to his arm in grateful service he needn't even ask for. Truly, to these women he was everything. Rolling muscled shoulders as he stepped into position, the King pointed his blade towards the menace amongst them, brow scrunched at the lack of weapon. Did he take him for a fool? Was it merely a joke to him?.

"Your weapon?".

"What, against you? Hardly need one." Verbal hit landed as intended. Perfect.

Lunging for the stranger with an angered snarl, the King's blade merely bounced off of a barrier of brilliant blue scales that coalesced across his opponent's form, staggering him for an instant and allowing his challenger to channel what he realized too late to be another spell. A mage? But where was his staff? His wand?

Hidden in the canopy above, Leih's fur stood on end, breath caught in her chest as the man they covered for let loose most guttural growl. Those below felt it too, an instinctual understanding of danger that bid several Coeurlclaw spectators step back, their King stilling once steady on his feet and watching what was now a proper predator. Steam huffed from flared nostrils, muscles bulging below skin that tightened to bumps as every hair stood on end.

Watchful as their King was, he'd no way of overcoming stunned surprise when his challenger's next exhale ushered forth a torrent of bubbles, battering him with a wetness that clung and carried weight of it's own. Eyes desperately trying to refocus upon the seemingly missing target, he failed to flinch free from the hand quickly clamping across the back of his neck, shoving him face first into the ground with a strength that brought genuine fear. The kind of fear one feels when deep in another beast's lair.

At this distance he could feel it, the draw of aether as his opponent accumulated it in the hand that held him down, channeled through the inconspicuous glove that looked no different from it's twin. All thought ground to a halt as vicious lightning wracked him stiff, scream cut short as everything tensed to bruising tightness. Lifting paralyzed foe by the scruff of his shirt, the man who'd maimed him with little thought turned to wave at the trio above, carefree in his demeanor as whatever magic overtook him moments prior simply evaporated off of his form.

"Alright you three, you can come down now! I got the bastard!" He announced, shaking the King as if he were some prized fish while the stars of his precious garden cried out in horror. "Oh calm down, he's fine. Paralyzed sure, but it won't kill him- Unless you give me reason to. So, who wants to tell me where my niece is, huh?".

Wild eyes scanned from one face to the next as the King's muscles refused to respond, trapped within a body that burned viciously but unable to make a sound. He watched helplessly as several of his flowers pointed his assailant towards the correct tent, vision shifting violently as he was tossed towards one of those called down to join them.

Chansteloup held the paralyzed man up in much the same manner, though the disgust on his face made clear he wasn't particularly enthused to be touching him. Leih stuck by his side to ensure no desperate damsel attempted to harm her friend, while Silvairre followed eager uncle as he tore his way unceremoniously into one of the tents nearest the wall. Huddled towards the back was the very person they'd sought to rescue, properly dressed and seemingly well-kept with the exception of tightly bandaged foot.

"Hey Kiddo! Long time no see, let's get you outta here m'kay?".

Self professed kin's attempt to lift Nina to her feet was met with a scramble and a scream, recognition lacking in eyes that held little of the spunk he'd expected. Frowning, he lowered himself into a squat and looked her over for injuries, only noticing the arrival of company when his niece raised her eyes to the Elezen and practically threw herself towards him without bothering to properly stand.

"Silvairre!".

Quick to catch her, Silvairre allowed himself to be pulled down to a kneel, arms wound tight around his friend to assure this ordeal was properly over. He took notice of her foot, of the bruising that poked out along her toes from beneath tightly wound bandages, and with a scowl he asked;

"They broke your foot?".

Nodding her admission, she buried weepy face against his tunic and clung desperately to his back, tail attaching itself to his waist in a quiet plea for him to continue sharing warmth. Outraged to see her harmed, one very confused uncle ground his molars together, eyeing the way her tail's tip lacked fur beyond the short undercoat and attributing such to her captors as well. He wanted to pry her from this young man's arms and assure her that he was here, but she'd stared up at him as if he were no more than a stranger, and further terror was the last thing he wished to inflict.

"Come, let us remove you from this vile place".

She nodded frantically against him, muttering something that had the young Elezen glancing around the tent questioningly in search of something, before gesturing to a large traveler's pack resting off to one side with a tilt of his head.

"Ah- If you'd please retrieve her bag, Mister Nelbah?" Not once had he introduced himself. The mention of grandmother's name bid Nina's ears to twitch, but she remained firmly planted in Silvairre's arms.

"Call me Ash" He offered quietly, moving to acquiesce. "Let's just get out of here".

With the King as royal ransom, their exit was more than welcome by near hysterical Coeurlclaws, desperate as they were to tend to him once unceremoniously dumped at territory's edge. Chansteloup and Leih remained on guard during their return to Quarrymill, bows in hand and senses sharp in case particularly vengeful poacher opted to follow or flank them. Content to simply hide against Silvairre, Nina remained silent as a mouse from start to finish, only speaking once within Quarrymill's walls to ask if Piers had found his way to them.

"He did, Alleyne is allowing him a room while Quarrymill's chirurgeon tends to his injuries. You knew of his escape?".

"It's why they broke my foot..." She explained following initial nod, "They were mad that- They kept hurting him, so I cut him free and made him leave when the people watching me were drunk, then they moved me a-all the way to the back when they found out, they all said they had to hurt me to make sure I didn't run, and that I left them no choice".

"They had plenty of choice".

Silent once more, she simply settled in his arms and allowed herself to be carried into Alleyne's inn, blonde bob of hair rushing over before stopping herself in an attempt to keep respectful distance. Rummaging for key to an unused room, she offered it out to Leih and bid the Miqo'te move ahead to open the door for her friends, receiving a tired but grateful smile from the younger woman before she scuttled ahead to do as asked.

Again, Ash found himself cast aside in favor of Silvairre as the chirurgeon arrived to check 'Nina' over, the trio of youngsters insisting she'd not respond to the name he knew. The two remaining outside to wait gave what little insight they held on the matter, and his tail lashed against the wall at the thought that his sister's youngest had forgotten everything, including her mother. He complained at their lack of forthcoming with these details, until they rightly shot back that he'd been entirely unwilling to listen.

Once cleared to enter, he paused with a single foot across the threshold, the nightgown his niece now rested in showing what hid beneath layered clothing. Unable to help himself, he stared, lips lightly parted though not a single thing to say. By the look of everyone other than Silvairre, this was their first time seeing such a sight as well, uncomfortable and infuriating beyond belief. Staring up at him with that same apprehension as she sat beneath covers and buried herself against Silvairre's side,  Nina watched his approach like a cornered animal, startling lightly as he fell to his knees near bed's edge and placed shaking hands atop it.

"You really can't remember me?, Your mother? Your sisters?" His voice cracked as if to beg, and she slowly shook her head. Eyes falling to the layered scarring at nearest wrist, he let out a shaky breath to ask, "Who did this to you?".

"U-umm..." Squirming in discomfort, she lifted her head in search of Silvairre's attention, unsure how she could escape this stranger's questioning.

"It may be best if you leave your questions to sit for the time being, Ash. Accompany us back to Gridania so we may inform them of what transpired?" Chansteloup offered, much to Nina's gratitude as the man in question quietly rose to leave.

"Yeah, alright. Take care of her for me?" He asked, looking to Silvairre for reassurance she'd be cared for.

"Of course".

With far less bravado than he'd carried to this point, Ash slowly stepped out of view and followed Chansteloup near obediently, a stark contrast to how he'd demanded the Elezen guide him earlier.

"Are you hungry?" Leih asked from her chair across the room, leaning in a little with attempted half smile.

Nina shook her head, but after a moment of consideration whipped her head up to meet fellow Keeper's gaze, ears perked with urgency.

"M-my bag! Can you please take it to Fufucha? It has- The mistletoe should still be okay, we packed it really carefully with ice shards just to make sure".

Taken aback by the request, Leih managed a more genuine smile as she rose from her seat and hefted her jam-packed cargo from the floor with little trouble. Of course she could. Promising to return later, she left to catch up with those already departed, leaving Silvairre alone with the friend he worried might've been gone for good.

At her most comfortable with his singular company, Silvairre felt Nina relax against him in full, though pain relief provided likely also played it's part. Concerns he'd kept to himself so far finally helped themselves to his voice, and as he ran fingers through her hair, he heard himself ask;

"Their King... Did he harm you?".

She shook her head once more, and he relaxed against the headboard, finally able to expunge such a thought from his mind and focus on the present. Feeling her palm atop the hand he'd rested to her hip, Silvairre cracked an eye open to watch as she attempted to lace smaller fingers between his own, more than happy to acquiesce and part them for her.

"He said I'd eventually want his hands on me, s-so there wasn't any reason to take me like that..." She squeezed his hand, a gesture he carefully mimicked so as to not pinch her fingers between his larger ones.

"Whatever delusions that man had, I'm simply glad he kept his hands to himself".

"Your hands are the only ones I like... Like this, I mean. You're safe. I'm okay with some people if it's just little things, but I don't want anyone else's hands on my skin, o-or holding onto me like this".

Calm as he attempted to remain, Silvairre's heart threatened to tear itself free through his throat, thrumming a violent rhythm at the implication as she cuddled happily against him. He swallowed hard, and with the utmost self control kept his voice from wavering to ask;

"You enjoy my touch?".

Nodding softly so as to not impede the fingers scratching her scalp, she heard her friend take in a shuddery breath, and glanced up questioningly as his hand untangled itself from her hair. Instead, he cupped her cheek and marveled at the way she leaned against his palm with eyes lightly shut, thumb brushing back and forth as he stared.

Yes, Piers was right- Nina was cute, endearing to the eye and a pleasure to share soft affections with.

Craning his neck to lean closer, her eyes fluttered open to watch as he pressed sealed lips against her forehead, no pucker or squeak to signify it as a proper kiss and yet she still sighed sweetly for the contact.

Even if only ever as friends, 'twas so utterly euphoric to be loved.