Chapter Text
"No need to tie him up," Zenos snapped, gesturing to dismiss the airship guards who had rushed a bit too quickly to tend to his companion. "The eikon-slayer is here of his own free will. You may even consider him my honored guest." Blood trickled from the corner of the blond man's mouth still, and his armor was dented and scuffed, but he seemed in better spirits than his underlings had perhaps ever seen him.
The white-haired Duskwight elezen who had followed him aboard was similarly battered and bloodied, trying to hide a slight limp as he followed the Viceroy. The Imperial soldiers gave Riol Kergadarvan a tense berth, as though he did not already stand out uncomfortably among them, his silver and blue Ishgardian armor contrasting sharply with their black and red. He shot them icy glances whenever someone ventured too close, but he kept his lance held upright and made no moves to attack. Or to escape. He had agreed to this, after all.
"In fact!" The Garlean raised his voice as he reached the far side of the room, turning around to face the Warrior of Light and spreading his arms. "See to it that this man is well taken care of." Crimson stained his teeth as he bared them in a grin. "Tend to his wounds, mend his arms and armor, give him a warm meal, and find him comfortable guest quarters." Everyone stood frozen for a moment before a further gesture of their commander’s hand sent the soldiers hurrying again to comply. "He is here to lend his blade to the Empire, to stand with us against the eikon threat, and so he must be in peak physical condition at all times."
The Warrior of Light could feel Zenos' eyes on him, on his peak physical condition, and it made his shoulders tense even more. Not ten minutes before, the two of them had been fighting to the death, for the third time, while the rest of the Eorzean Alliance assaulted the Palace of Ala Mhigo around them. Then, in the shadow of the bound Primal Shinryuu, the Garlean Crown Prince had extended an offer of friendship, of all things. And Riol had taken it. Anything to try to put an end to the Empire's reign of terror over Ala Mhigo, he had told himself. The two of them had fought to a standstill within the palace, and that was the closest Riol had yet come to defeating the Garlean.
Perhaps his skill would have been enough to slay the Imperial Viceroy this time, or perhaps not. Or perhaps it was simply that the Warrior of Light’s normally-boundless confidence had finally faltered at a most crucial moment. In the heat of things, accepting the Garlean Prince’s sudden invitation of friendship had somehow seemed a more certain solution than martial victory - who could be certain that this combat encounter would end any differently than his previous battles with Zenos had? Assuming, of course, that this was not simply another, longer road to his own demise. Yet Riol knew his own death in the Royal Menagerie would have bought his allies nothing, yet this alternative still gave them time and reprieve, and removed the Empire's most fearsome soldier from the heat of this battle. Upon this altar, Riol had made himself a willing sacrifice.
The airship's slight but sudden dip in an eddy of turbulence jolted Riol back to the present, and reminded him that his choice was made - his ship had, quite literally, already set sail.
Zenos turned back and departed through the doorway, leaving the Ishgardian behind with the remaining guards. One of them stepped forward then, hesitating at Riol's elbow before beckoning for him to follow. He could hear the Viceroy's footsteps echoing down the metal hallway in the opposite direction as the guard directed him around several turns before stopping at another closed door. It looked the same as the one they had just passed through prior - they all did, the halls and walkways, all austere steel Garlean design.
The guard swiped a card at a terminal beside the portal, causing it to open, then carefully offered the card to Riol. "I … hope you will find these quarters to your liking?" The man’s helm hid his expression, but it was clear by the tone of his voice that he was still struggling to believe this turn of events, as well. And more than a little afraid that the Warrior of Light might still turn on him.
"Thank you," Riol replied, his own voice sounding alien to him as he avoided looking at the guard before stepping through the doorway.
The room within was spartan but adequately comfortable, functional yet plain; replace the steel with stone, and it might well have been somewhere in Coerthas. The door shut behind the Warrior of Light of its own accord, leaving him alone in the room, where he stood motionless for a long moment, simply trying to wrap his head around what he had done.
The Warrior of Light had pursued Zenos out to the expansive patio covered in flowers alone after their fight in the Palace; the others had spread out to finish securing the interior. Undoubtedly they would have had enough time by now to begin to search for him. They might not think him dead immediately, being able to find neither his body nor that of the Imperial Viceroy. Someone must have spotted the departing airship, even amidst the chaos of battle; surely the Scions would send a rescue mission when they had the time and resources.
… Whatever good that might do, especially if he completed this trip by airship to wherever Zenos wished to take him. Likely back to Garlemald. But if he could sate this madman's need for violence in the meanwhile, the Warrior of Light might have all the chances he required to slay him finally. Riol was no shinobi, but he might be able to glean some information while among the Imperials. Perhaps even having a "friend" could temper Zenos’ bloodlust. Or he could somehow tear down Garlemald single-handedly. It all sounded equally far fetched at the moment.
The ache of battle set in at last, reminding the elezen man that he did, indeed, still possess physical form, and he sank into a chair in the corner of the room with a quiet clanking of his Ishgardian armor. The dragoon shed the plate and chain, leaving the pieces on the floor where they fell, then pulled off his padded shirt, as well, to inventory the latest crop of bruises he had picked up battling through the palace of Ala Mhigo. His armor had held true, so he bore no serious injuries, but the Viceroy had scored no small number of heavy hits on him during their battle. He would have to move carefully for a few days, he suspected, unless the Imperial medica would truly follow through on Zenos’ orders to heal him; that was not something upon which Riol wanted to rely at the moment.
The room had a small washroom set on one side behind screens, and Riol padded over barefoot to the sink. He only caught the briefest glance of his freckled and scarred face in the mirror before pointedly looking away, down at the faucet as it poured cool water into his cupped palms. Splashing the water into his face did not cause him to awaken from whatever dream this was, and so once he had cleaned himself off a bit, the Warrior of Light collapsed into the bed he had been provided. He needed rest before anything else. Then he could plan, and try to figure out what he was going to do next.