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Visiting Statues
Title: Visiting Statues
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Characters/pairing: Dion & Jill
Rating: gen
Word Count: 1580
Notes: Been trying to wrangle a fic for these two for a while. I would have loved to have seen them actually exchange some dialogue in canon. Aboard the Enterprise, Dion and Jill meet again.
-
The sea was calm and still in the evening light. Dion’s arrival had been markedly late and he had been grateful for the immediate chance to rest, unsavory as it felt to board and disappear. His eyes were weary from the wind that had whipped at him while Lord Rosfield’s men escorted him across the inky water. He took up one of the oars despite protest and their boat moved twice as swift over the open ocean. The soreness in his shoulders was a good pain where the one that lay in his heart was not. He ached, inside and out, and the obligations of remonstrance propelled him forward.
Even while the shipmates of the Enterprise lead him to the galley, calling out for their leaders, he felt stretched out, too thin, and the fog that obscured one end of the ship to the other mirrored the solemn numbness that took root in his mind. He had never been this far out on the open water, so far from Sanbreque’s borders, and terribly alone.
Dion waited to be received, watching the small, unhurried sail boat bob away into the hazy dark. He touched his arm, flexed the muscle, and felt the old bandages loosen beneath his sleeve. Dion considered the last hand that had touched them; he filed that memory far away — but still wondered, how far would he ride tonight — and tucked the trailing end under the slip of his gloves. He nearly missed the light feet padding across the deck toward him, but not the sensation of another dominant. His jaw clenched.
“Your Highness.” Shiva stepped into his periphery, and the first thing that struck him was her relieved if tired smile. “A stolas arrived not long before yourself. Thank you for joining us.”
“Lady Shiva,” he said, stunned. He bowed his head. “It’s my pleasure.”
Dion was afraid he’d taken too long to collect his fuzzy thoughts before speaking again. He recalled a waif of a girl who slipped away from a long ago meeting into the peace of winding palace corridors with no intention of returning; he could not mistake her firm address for anything less than that of a soldier overseeing an immense operation. The then and now seemed incongruent with the woman before him.
Shiva called a man over and requested he check that a room was ready and waiting and food warmed in the kitchen for their latest footpad — Dion slung his pack forward on his shoulders and raised his hand to stop them.
“That won’t be necessary, you need not trouble yourself,” he interjected. “I have provisions of my own and I can sleep anywhere.”
Jill shook her head, and the crewman departed. “I believe you, but I wouldn’t do a disservice to a friend.”
“A friend,” Dion repeated. The word was flat and tasteless in his mouth. “Forgive me that I cannot offer better services to be worthy of that except my spear.”
“You’ll find it’s a title given freely around here. Most cursebreakers arrive here with nothing.”
Shiva held her slim hand out for him to take, stepping close enough to grasp his own should he offer it. Had Dion still considered himself a prince or a man with pride, he’d have knelt low to receive her invitation with a kiss and a suitable murmur, but he was not either of those things and both men he had declared fealty to before were either dead or on a trajectory where their destinies would not cross for sometime.
They grasped arms as equals. The tail end of the bandage slipped from his sleeve. Her elbow was bony and sharp against the warm leather of his palm. “It’s Jill,” she said. She raised her head and silver hair fell away from her face, and she looked pale and wane under the fog.
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“My name,” she clarified. Her smile faltered, then returned. “Please, call me by it as the rest here do. I am not my eikon.”
“I see. Lady Jill, then,” he said, testing the words. “If that’s to your liking.” They withdrew from each other. He did not need to ask to know what suffering dominants endured in the Iron Kingdom. “Please forgive my rude departure from the Hideaway before. I know your resident physicker saw to my recovery. I had obligations that needed seen to and I — was indisposed. I’m afraid I made enemies of your boatman.”
“It’s nothing to apologize for,” she said. “I understand. It’s not easy being idle when your people suffer.” She winced, and rubbed at her arm. “Lord Byron mentioned you offered your dragoons to clear Ran’dellah. Those men would not have endured without aid, and ours would have been too late.”
His mouth sealed itself. By proxy, the cursebreakers who worked and stopped to sip at their drinks gave them little mind despite the news. Fortune had it that their kind were not unusual here, for every other person bore a physical brand or the scar of one, but Jill’s was not so obvious. Dion drew his spear closer to himself, fatigue pushing heavy behind his eyes; any extension of peace offered he should not take. “Likewise, it’s nothing you need thank me for.”
“Then we are even,” Jill said. She studied him. “I may request your forgiveness however for only being able to offer you a room shared with the linens. It’s cozy, at least.”
Dion smiled demurely. “I have no complaints, Lady Jill. I was ready to take a corner of the deck or not sleep at all.”
“This way then,” she said. She turned her back. As Dion followed her below his thoughts ran swift and tired. This is the ward of the North. This is the Phoenix’s family. This is Shiva, offering me sanctuary in good faith. When they passed through the galley and descended down another staircase into the belly of the ship, small rooms with bunks and retiring men and women watched them move past. They played cards, or drank tiredly within their beds, abroad and afar from home, not unlike the dragoons Dion commanded and grew endeared to. His chest and throat grew tight.
Jill pressed the heavy door at the end of the corridor open with her palm and stepped inside, inspecting the space. A single gray cot was made up just slightly away from a stack of clean towels and sheets, neatly starched and folded. The roof was sloped low and Dion had to duck through the frame to enter behind her. A spare closet was open to reveal an open crate of tonics. Solemnly, he laid his spear against the wall where movement would not jar it, and his pack across the cot where it bent beneath the weight. Jill lit a lamp with a match instead of a crystal. She was a dark slash of blue in the golden toss up of the room.
“Would you like to join me for a late supper?” Jill asked. “It will spare you the painful introductions with the staff.”
Dion looked at her. She had offered him nothing but connection since his arrival and he was undeserving of even that. But perhaps he could ease her burden when his conditions were fulfilled. “Forgive me, but I’m comfortable. It was a long journey to get here. If I were more able, perhaps…”
“Then I will trust you can see to yourself. If you have need of anything, I’m across from you. Or you can ask anyone here for Gav.”
“You’re with the linens as well?” he asked, startled.
Jill shrugged. “I try to stay out from under foot. I don’t sleep much anyway. While the fog above is a useful trick, I must stay awake for it.”
“I see,” Dion murmured. “Your watch is appreciated.”
“It’s no trouble,” she said. “Sleep well.” She exited the room, nodded at him, and carefully closed the door behind her. The click of the latch didn’t soothe him until he could not sense her so near. Then, he leaned against the wall and scrubbed hard at his eyes.
Later, the Enterprise was quiet save the groan of her hulls, which sounded thunderous even under the thick and scratchy sheet he’d been given arrest the heavy cot. There were supply boxes all around threatening to topple over, crates of medicine with jars that sang and rattled upon the harsh disturbance of a wave, but across from his own quarter Jill Warrick was quiet and still in sleep. When Dion shut his eyes and dragged the blanket over his head he could sense her eikon’s diminutive likeness and how it rejected her command and tired insistence. Rolling over on his side, he felt silently for Bahamut, and finding his eikon dull but responsive to his will he dreaded that their connection had suffered no consequence he could not commandeer, and once again, he was spared of a much deserved blow to his existence.
The following morning his eyes were sore with grief that no amount of cold water could ease, but Lady Jill split hot oats and tea with him in the small dining quarters and her bleary smile promised that his use to this world was not over yet and that someone here saw some strength he himself could not. He only hoped the wind would see them swiftly through the open ocean so he could make good on promises kept. To that end, nothing else mattered except enduring.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Characters/pairing: Dion & Jill
Rating: gen
Word Count: 1580
Notes: Been trying to wrangle a fic for these two for a while. I would have loved to have seen them actually exchange some dialogue in canon. Aboard the Enterprise, Dion and Jill meet again.
-
The sea was calm and still in the evening light. Dion’s arrival had been markedly late and he had been grateful for the immediate chance to rest, unsavory as it felt to board and disappear. His eyes were weary from the wind that had whipped at him while Lord Rosfield’s men escorted him across the inky water. He took up one of the oars despite protest and their boat moved twice as swift over the open ocean. The soreness in his shoulders was a good pain where the one that lay in his heart was not. He ached, inside and out, and the obligations of remonstrance propelled him forward.
Even while the shipmates of the Enterprise lead him to the galley, calling out for their leaders, he felt stretched out, too thin, and the fog that obscured one end of the ship to the other mirrored the solemn numbness that took root in his mind. He had never been this far out on the open water, so far from Sanbreque’s borders, and terribly alone.
Dion waited to be received, watching the small, unhurried sail boat bob away into the hazy dark. He touched his arm, flexed the muscle, and felt the old bandages loosen beneath his sleeve. Dion considered the last hand that had touched them; he filed that memory far away — but still wondered, how far would he ride tonight — and tucked the trailing end under the slip of his gloves. He nearly missed the light feet padding across the deck toward him, but not the sensation of another dominant. His jaw clenched.
“Your Highness.” Shiva stepped into his periphery, and the first thing that struck him was her relieved if tired smile. “A stolas arrived not long before yourself. Thank you for joining us.”
“Lady Shiva,” he said, stunned. He bowed his head. “It’s my pleasure.”
Dion was afraid he’d taken too long to collect his fuzzy thoughts before speaking again. He recalled a waif of a girl who slipped away from a long ago meeting into the peace of winding palace corridors with no intention of returning; he could not mistake her firm address for anything less than that of a soldier overseeing an immense operation. The then and now seemed incongruent with the woman before him.
Shiva called a man over and requested he check that a room was ready and waiting and food warmed in the kitchen for their latest footpad — Dion slung his pack forward on his shoulders and raised his hand to stop them.
“That won’t be necessary, you need not trouble yourself,” he interjected. “I have provisions of my own and I can sleep anywhere.”
Jill shook her head, and the crewman departed. “I believe you, but I wouldn’t do a disservice to a friend.”
“A friend,” Dion repeated. The word was flat and tasteless in his mouth. “Forgive me that I cannot offer better services to be worthy of that except my spear.”
“You’ll find it’s a title given freely around here. Most cursebreakers arrive here with nothing.”
Shiva held her slim hand out for him to take, stepping close enough to grasp his own should he offer it. Had Dion still considered himself a prince or a man with pride, he’d have knelt low to receive her invitation with a kiss and a suitable murmur, but he was not either of those things and both men he had declared fealty to before were either dead or on a trajectory where their destinies would not cross for sometime.
They grasped arms as equals. The tail end of the bandage slipped from his sleeve. Her elbow was bony and sharp against the warm leather of his palm. “It’s Jill,” she said. She raised her head and silver hair fell away from her face, and she looked pale and wane under the fog.
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“My name,” she clarified. Her smile faltered, then returned. “Please, call me by it as the rest here do. I am not my eikon.”
“I see. Lady Jill, then,” he said, testing the words. “If that’s to your liking.” They withdrew from each other. He did not need to ask to know what suffering dominants endured in the Iron Kingdom. “Please forgive my rude departure from the Hideaway before. I know your resident physicker saw to my recovery. I had obligations that needed seen to and I — was indisposed. I’m afraid I made enemies of your boatman.”
“It’s nothing to apologize for,” she said. “I understand. It’s not easy being idle when your people suffer.” She winced, and rubbed at her arm. “Lord Byron mentioned you offered your dragoons to clear Ran’dellah. Those men would not have endured without aid, and ours would have been too late.”
His mouth sealed itself. By proxy, the cursebreakers who worked and stopped to sip at their drinks gave them little mind despite the news. Fortune had it that their kind were not unusual here, for every other person bore a physical brand or the scar of one, but Jill’s was not so obvious. Dion drew his spear closer to himself, fatigue pushing heavy behind his eyes; any extension of peace offered he should not take. “Likewise, it’s nothing you need thank me for.”
“Then we are even,” Jill said. She studied him. “I may request your forgiveness however for only being able to offer you a room shared with the linens. It’s cozy, at least.”
Dion smiled demurely. “I have no complaints, Lady Jill. I was ready to take a corner of the deck or not sleep at all.”
“This way then,” she said. She turned her back. As Dion followed her below his thoughts ran swift and tired. This is the ward of the North. This is the Phoenix’s family. This is Shiva, offering me sanctuary in good faith. When they passed through the galley and descended down another staircase into the belly of the ship, small rooms with bunks and retiring men and women watched them move past. They played cards, or drank tiredly within their beds, abroad and afar from home, not unlike the dragoons Dion commanded and grew endeared to. His chest and throat grew tight.
Jill pressed the heavy door at the end of the corridor open with her palm and stepped inside, inspecting the space. A single gray cot was made up just slightly away from a stack of clean towels and sheets, neatly starched and folded. The roof was sloped low and Dion had to duck through the frame to enter behind her. A spare closet was open to reveal an open crate of tonics. Solemnly, he laid his spear against the wall where movement would not jar it, and his pack across the cot where it bent beneath the weight. Jill lit a lamp with a match instead of a crystal. She was a dark slash of blue in the golden toss up of the room.
“Would you like to join me for a late supper?” Jill asked. “It will spare you the painful introductions with the staff.”
Dion looked at her. She had offered him nothing but connection since his arrival and he was undeserving of even that. But perhaps he could ease her burden when his conditions were fulfilled. “Forgive me, but I’m comfortable. It was a long journey to get here. If I were more able, perhaps…”
“Then I will trust you can see to yourself. If you have need of anything, I’m across from you. Or you can ask anyone here for Gav.”
“You’re with the linens as well?” he asked, startled.
Jill shrugged. “I try to stay out from under foot. I don’t sleep much anyway. While the fog above is a useful trick, I must stay awake for it.”
“I see,” Dion murmured. “Your watch is appreciated.”
“It’s no trouble,” she said. “Sleep well.” She exited the room, nodded at him, and carefully closed the door behind her. The click of the latch didn’t soothe him until he could not sense her so near. Then, he leaned against the wall and scrubbed hard at his eyes.
Later, the Enterprise was quiet save the groan of her hulls, which sounded thunderous even under the thick and scratchy sheet he’d been given arrest the heavy cot. There were supply boxes all around threatening to topple over, crates of medicine with jars that sang and rattled upon the harsh disturbance of a wave, but across from his own quarter Jill Warrick was quiet and still in sleep. When Dion shut his eyes and dragged the blanket over his head he could sense her eikon’s diminutive likeness and how it rejected her command and tired insistence. Rolling over on his side, he felt silently for Bahamut, and finding his eikon dull but responsive to his will he dreaded that their connection had suffered no consequence he could not commandeer, and once again, he was spared of a much deserved blow to his existence.
The following morning his eyes were sore with grief that no amount of cold water could ease, but Lady Jill split hot oats and tea with him in the small dining quarters and her bleary smile promised that his use to this world was not over yet and that someone here saw some strength he himself could not. He only hoped the wind would see them swiftly through the open ocean so he could make good on promises kept. To that end, nothing else mattered except enduring.