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The sun has barely risen when Aureia leads Filo from the stables, saddled and prepared for the journey ahead. In a remarkable change from Coerthas’ usual weather, the sky is cloudless, the pink and orange hues fading to a spectacular blue. Without snowfall as a deterrent, they should make good time to Thanalan border.
Aureia chews her lower lip and casts an eye across the stable. Should is the item in question, given how late he is. At this point, she wonders whether they are going to leave at all.
Filo bumps her shoulder, nudging her insistently.
“I know, I know,” she murmurs, patting down the restless chocobo. “We’ll be off soon, I promise—”
He chirps and rustles his feathers.
“It’s fine, Filo, really. Thancred will—”
He butts her with his head.
She makes a face and grabs him by the harness, staring him in the eye. “Now, look here—”
Filo stares at her unblinkingly with those large, dark eyes. He chirps once and cocks his head.
She sighs, shoulders slumping. “Perhaps you’re right,” she mutters in defeat. Trust her chocobo to know her better than herself. The bird has a preternaturally ability to discern her feelings, and express his opinions on them. She shouldn’t be surprised. When she first received him from the Immortal Flames, she would recount every thought that came to mind. It began as a way to pass the time, riding from one end of Thanalan to the other. But now it’s habit. There is no creature of person in Eorzea who knows her better or trusts her instinctively. Filo has saved her life more than once, defending her from everything from bandits to local fauna to Garleans, swooping in and drawing their attention while she cast her spells. She can’t imagine venturing anywhere without him.
And if the cost of that is dealing with an opinionated chocobo who likes to headbutt her when he thinks she’s being foolish, then she will have to live with it.
Aureia pats his beak. “Thank you, Filo,” she says heavily. “I’ll keep that in mind—”
Filo chirps, pulling out of her grasp. She glances over her shoulder, pressing her lips together as a familiar figure arrives. Thancred strides through the stables, briskly collecting his own chocobo without speaking to the stable hands. He doesn’t raise a hand in greeting as he leads his mount over to her. Nor does he says a word when he draws up beside her and checks his gear and saddlebags.
Aureia busies herself by checking her own saddlebags—a useless endeavour, considering she has already inspected them twice—and waits for him to speak.
Resting a hand on Filo’s side, she smooths down his feathers and gives Thancred a sideways glance. He looks worse for wear in a way that cannot be blamed on the early morning. Pallid and gaunt, hair a tangled mess pulling free from its braid, dark circles beneath his visible eye… She can sense the tension in his body language, derived from lack of sleep and discomfort. He keeps himself turned from the sun, avoiding the direct glare at all costs, but his brow still furrows with the recognizable pain of a hangover.
She knows these signs. She’s intimately familiar with them. They’ve been through these cycles before—after the Praetorium, after Moenbryda’s death… Only this time, it’s different. This time, the cycle has endured for months. And there may be nothing she can do to snap him out of it.
It may no longer be her place to do so.
Aureia inhales a breath, stomach twisting. One of them has to break the silence. Otherwise, they have an uncomfortable journey ahead of them.
“Thancred?” she begins softly.
He grimaces. “You do not have to do this for me,” he says, disappearing behind his chocobo as he tugs on the straps.
“It’s no trouble—”
“You have more than enough to take care of here—”
“I am faster on my own.”
She stiffens, bristling at his tone. “I only proposed I come with you because I wanted to help—”
“I mean no offense, Aureia, but between the two of us, who has more experience traversing the wild, hm? As I said, I am faster on my own.”
Her grip tightens on Filo’s saddle. They are straying dangerously close to the first of two unspoken topics that have put a wedge between them. Y’shtola warned her to say nothing about his damaged aether and so far as she has kept her promise. But the longer this goes on, the greater the divide grows between them. She can’t help but think it is causing irreparable damage in another way. She is a mage, subconsciously pulling on aether for every little thing. How much does her mere presence remind him of what he’s lost?
“If you were so opposed to the idea, then why did you accept in the first place?” Aureia snaps, irritation getting the better of her. “You could have told me no.”
He straightens, surfacing from behind his chocobo, and meets her eyes. A faint flush crosses his cheeks. “I am not going to tell you what you can or cannot do,” he replies. “You have enough people jostling for that privilege. I assume the Lord Commander has sanctioned this mission?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need Aymeric’s permission to leave the city. I’m his ally, not his subordinate.”
“From what I’ve seen, you are many things to him.”
The words sting. Aureia folds her arms and levels a glare at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.
“Only that you look particularly well-rested this morning,” he retorts. The bitter tone is impossible to ignore. “I am happy for you, Aur. Truly. You deserve this.”
She flushes, heat spreading across her cheeks. The recent change in her relationship with Aymeric has left her confused—happy, but confused. It is a question mark, undefined, uncertain, but full of possibility. With the chaos of recent events, she has barely had time to process it, let alone admit that something happened between them. Regardless, Thancred’s assumption cuts at her like a thousand knives. She wasn’t with Aymeric last night.
“And what of you?” she spits back. “If we’re trading observations, then I could say that you look like you had an eventful time last night.”
He scoffs. “Nothing of the sort—”
“Oh? Because you seem a little haggard, Than. Why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me what time you went to bed last night. Or if you went to bed at all, for that matter.”
“It is not your concern—”
“No, but you could have at least done the decency of admitting what was going on before you started fucking my friend.”
The words come out in a rush. Aureia bites her tongue, wishing she could take them back, but it’s too late now. What’s done is done. This is the second wedge, perhaps more painful than the first, albeit for different reasons. She has tried not to care—she has—but ever since his arrival in Ishgard, it was impossible to ignore how his gaze strayed to Hilda. She knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them ended up in… well… whatever it is.
Thancred stares at her, anger flushing his face. “How long have you known about that?” he says, rounding his chocobo.
She shrugs and releases her grip on Filo’s saddle. “Since the Grand Melee,” she replies, folding her arms across her chest. “Don’t even try to deny it, the two of you have not been subtle—”
“I could say the same for you. Aymeric’s eyes do not stray far from you whenever you’re in his company—”
“Leave him out of this—”
“Then leave Hilda out of it—”
She snorts with disgust and looks away.
He scowls. “Don’t pass judgement on me, Aur,” he hisses, stepping into her. They are almost eye-to-eye. “Not unless you tell me why you’re angry.”
She stares back at him. “Then why don’t you tell me what you wanted to say to me back in the waterways. You remember that, right?”
His expression hardens. “I said everything I intended to that night. No more, no less.”
A furious squawk deafens her ears. Filo charges forward, nudging Aureia out of the way, wings half-open as he bears down on Thancred. He reels back, hands raised, eyeing the angry chocobo with cautions. Cursing under his breath, he shakes his head and returns to his own mount.
“Enough talk,” Thancred says irritably, pulling himself into his saddle. “Are we going or not?”
Aureia places a hand on Filo’s side, calming the bird with a touch. Thancred rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, urging his chocobo forward without another word. Doing her best to ignore the hollow pit in her stomach, she swings herself into the saddle and follows him. Perhaps there is a reason to leave unspoken truths unspoken.
It’s going to be a long journey.