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“Is aught amiss?”
Tahri looked up from her drink, taking a second to register the question. Was aught amiss? Surely not. The Final Days had been averted, and she was at a fancy gala, surrounded by friends, laughing crowds, and good food. Yet, she felt… Choked. Like she was holding her breath, trying not to scream.
She nearly jumped when Shtola put a hand on her arm, recoiling from the touch. She stared at the spot she had touched, just now realizing how dry her mouth was. Usually she leaned into any touch, especially from Shtola. Why had she done that?
“I see.”
Shtola said that so matter-of-factly, Tahri couldn’t help but cock her head at it. “We have a rather negative history with these kind of occasions, do we not? The Admiral’s Banquet; Costa del Sol; Ul’dah. The list goes on.”
That was it, wasn’t it. She’d never been good with large social gatherings like this, even before her life became an endless series of struggles and backstabbings.
And just like that she recognized that feeling. That pressure. In one moment she realized she was trying to keep herself from being on guard. With a shaky exhale, she forced herself to relax, letting go of both the impulse to find whatever was going to hurt her this time, and the urge to suppress herself.
Or, she tried to.
The waiter approaching them, was he too close? Too focused? Too relaxed? Watch his hands, is he concealing anything? Is Alphinaud or Urianger nearby, anyone who can neutralize a poison? Steady yourself, fix your stance, are you centered enough to unleash the forbidden chakra if you need to and could you do it without hurting Shtola or is the situation dire enough that you’ll need to-
She froze as Shtola stepped in front of her, slipping her hand into her own, gently tugging it into a familiar position.
“A dance to clear your mind?”
She watched the waiter stroll past them without sparing them a second glance, unaware of how close he had come to death. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as a pang of guilt shot down her spine. There was a reason she usually kept her feelings behind lock and key, after all.
No!
None of that now.
She was safe.
The Terminus are gone.
The Ascians are gone.
She is surrounded by good people celebrating.
Celebrating her victory.
And Shtola is asking her to dance.
She nods, relived at how her smile feels less forced than she’d feared, letting Shtola take the lead as they made their way onto the dance floor. The music was stately and refined, and following the rhythm lead to them keeping a swaying, sweeping pace as they danced. There were less people around them here than at the edge, but every so often another couple would stray close, and Tahri would find herself instinctively taking the lead just for a moment to put herself between them and Shtola.
She hated that she couldn’t just turn it off. That need to protect, to be ready, just in case. To quell it, she forced herself to watch Shtola. Noting each breath she took, watching the sight smile on her lips, drowning out the voice in her head with the image of her dress. It was a near-regal thing in Scion whites and blacks and reds. She noted with a giddy smile the design on her choker. It was the sun disk of the Warden wreathed in stylized flames, a dot at its center. That detail drew her in, the rest of the world falling away as she was lifted up to the seventh heaven. The Burning Moon, which had become the mark of the Warrior of Light, mixed with the symbol of Azeyma.
Of Azem.
Tataru had made them herself, accessories passed out to each of them especially for tonight.
“For our tireless champion,” she had said. It had been a bit embarrassing at first. The whole event was for all of them, after all, and here they go making it all about her.
“They’re just baubles,” Estinien had countered.
“And I for one think they look rather fetching,” Thancred had added, fixing his to his jacket like a medal.
They had devolved into various affirmations and chit-chat after that, but something Alisae said in passing had stuck with her, ringing in her skull now:
“Besides, you deserve it.”
Deserve was a word she struggled with almost as much as her hypervigilance. What do you deserve after saving the world? After saving it again and again and again. Whenever the question resurfaced, as it often did, a part of her -a dark, burning part of her- whispered “everything”.
She tried to silence it.
She didn’t deserve anything more than anyone else.
“We deserve this much, at least.” She heard the words clear as day, as if a second Tahri stood next to her and spoke the words out loud. “We deserve to be safe, and happy, and we deserve to have Y’shtola Rhul, saviour of the Night’s Blessed, Archon of Sharlayan, and Scion of the Seventh Dawn in our arms, dancing the night away while she stares at us transfixed.”
She blinked, realizing that yes, Shtola was watching her quite intently. She had once told her she found her aether fascinating, and it was far from a rare occasion that Tahri would catch her staring. Of course, she didn’t exactly mind it. Pretty ladies giving her that kind of attention was very much welcome, especially if they were Shtola.
“She is burning up her own soul just to experience us.”
And just like that, her heart sank. A wave of nausea rose over her, and she felt faint. Visions flashed before her eyes; of Shtola fading into shadows at the Abode of the Ea; of watching the light fade from her eyes, her chest torn open by Tahri’s axe at Elidibus’ command; of Lahabrea cackling like a madman as the world burned beneath Ultima.
The next thing she knew she was sitting on a couch in a small room, the gentle night breeze cooling her sweat-slick skin. Someone gently pressed a glass to her lips, and she startled before she realized it was Thancred. She took the glass and gulped down the cold water, only now realizing how thirsty she was.
“There we are,” he said encouragingly. “Slowly now. Welcome back to the land of the living.”
After emptying the glass in seconds and handing it back to Thancred, she looked around the room. Beside her and Thancred, Krile was observing her from over by the window, and Shtola was seated next to her on the couch. She gave them all a questioning head tilt.
“You nearly collapsed back there. You were doubled over and hyperventilating.”
Oh.
“A vision of the Echo?” Krile looked to be deep in thought. “It has been quite some time since you had such a strong reaction to one.”
Tahri shook her head.
“Something far worse, I fear.” Shtola leaned in closer, a look of sympathy on her face as she took Tahri’s hands into her own. “You had a panic attack, didn’t you?”
The silence that followed could have been cut with a knife.
Worse still, Tahri must have been looking at Shtola wrong, because next she placed a hand on her cheek and smiled in that way a mother smiles at her shy daughter. “You can tell me anything, love.” The pet name was so deliberate it almost hurt. “In fact,” her voice took on a lighter tone, “You know how I feel about secrets being kept from me.”
In spite of everything, Tahri smiled.
It didn’t last.
She looked to the others, who got the point, Thancred gesturing to the refilled glass of water as they left the room.
And then they were alone.
She had been dreading this. To say it out loud. To acknowledge the terrible truth. The burning shame of hypocrisy. How selfish she felt trying to tell Shtola how to live her life just to soothe her own fears.
She took a deep breath. Just get it all out.
“I know your aetheric sight is killing you.” It felt like getting shot. “I hate knowing you would burn your own soul out just to watch my aether.” Like hunting mutant tempered in Garlemald: one shot to stun them, one shot to kill them. “And I hate that part of me likes it.”
One shot to make sure they stay dead.
If the previous silence could be cut with a knife, the one that followed demanded a Warrior’s axe.
As the seconds stretched on, Tahri heard the voice again.
“It’s the devotion. The proof that she, one of the smartest people we know, considers it worth it. She loves us that much. She would rather die than not see us.”
“Oh.”
That was all Shtola could say. “Oh.” She almost sounded sheepish. Like she had been caught out. Like she was the one at fault, and not Tahri, who had known and stood by and done nothing. Who had enjoyed it.
She couldn’t remember when she’d started crying, only that suddenly she was.
This was all wrong.
Her skull ached, her chest heaving with each tortured sob as the dam finally burst, and all of her fears came flooding forth. Of all the dangers we’ve faced. Of all the things that should have killed her, but hadn’t.
Please don’t let it be me that kills her.
A soft caress.
A gentle touch.
Tahri opens her eyes, blinking away the tears to see the blurry image of Shtola taking her hand in both of her own, raising it to her lips, and kissing her knuckles. She hovers there for a moment, her warm breath on Tahri’s strong, calloused hands. Then, slowly, deliberately, she moves the hand to cup her cheek. She finds her thumb moving of its own accord to trace the marks there.
When Shtola leans into the touch, nuzzling her palm, she realizes she’s not crying anymore.
“There is naught to fear, love.” Despite the pet name, and the clear concern in her voice, she speaks with that steadfast certainty Tahri knows oh so well. “I might be a tad reckless with my aether, but I’m fine. I know my limits.”
“I- I just-” her voice is hoarse and dry, and trying to speak has the tears threatening to well up again.
“I know, love.”
Part of Tahri, the one that has grown accustomed to thinking of a conversation as a dangerous a battlefield as any other can’t help but chime in that she keeps repeating that pet name, much more than usual. That she’s trying to put her at ease.
The part of her that knows Shtola is grateful for it.
Instead of the words that so often fail her, Tahri pulls her closer, wrapping her arms around her, one around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head.
It feels good to hold her. To feel her presence. Her scent. Undeniable proof that she is there, and safe, and that she loves her.
She can hear her heartbeat. Feels the shaky rhythm of her breathing, the way she buries herself into the crook of her neck.
After everything they’ve been through. After all the trials and hardships, it feels like some kind of catharsis.