Chapter Text
It was, in the end, pure desperation and misplaced hope that drove Urianger to answer the Ascian's summons in the first place. His investigations into the whereabouts of the vanished Scions had yet to bear fruit, and he'd made no headway with the Ul'dahn authorities (despite the clear doubt as to his friend's culpability in the assassination of the Sultana.) It was a dangerous game, Urianger knew—but he also could not help but admit that the white-robed Ascian had seemed quite different from the others in temperament and action alike. If anything at all could be gleaned from him this would be well worth it.
He arrived early for their meeting—nearly a full bell early—and allowed himself to sink into the shadows to wait. The fact that the Ascian had chosen a seemingly abandoned dungeon as their meeting place was unnerving, and if he could avoid being seen by whatever creatures might lurk here all the better. Though some hunted not by sight alone—those he would need be wary for. He quieted his breathing as best he could and stayed alert for any hint that such a beast might be hunting him.
Minutes passed. Something dripped steadily in the distance, marking the time as well as might the sand in an hourglass. He heard skittering at one point; vilekin, most likely, and far enough away that it was of little concern to him. And then, at long last, footsteps. The steady footsteps of something with two legs. Boots on stone. Spoken? He considered stepping out—no, he did not know that it was the Ascian who approached; instead he peered into the wan light that crept into the dungeons and watched.
Ascian, yes, but this one wore dark robes; his hood fell in a way that concealed his mask, but his pauldrons were sufficient to signal his rank as an Overlord, at least so far as Urianger knew. Urianger drew a step further back into the dark, his own sandals quieter, his steps light. Was this a standard Ascian meeting ground? he wondered. If so, he could perhaps set up some form of divination upon it—though it would be risky, as they could trace such a spell back to him were it detected. He watched the Ascian stand there, wondering if they, too, were expecting to meet someone here (and, if so, hoped that meeting would be over ere Elidibus arrived—otherwise matters could very well become quite awkward.) He glanced about, noting that both exits available to him would bring him directly into the Ascian's line of sight. He had his back to cell bars; retreating any further into the shadows would put him squarely inside the cell, and even with the mechanisms as corroded as they were he did not wish to tempt fate any more than he already had by coming here in the first place.
A part of him wished he and Moenbryda had made more than one piece of white auracite—though he knew that, alone, he would not be capable of putting it to proper use, no matter what he might be willing to offer. Alas; while they had made thorough notes, his own studies of aetherology were limited to a few electives in his student years and what he'd picked up from Moenbryda and her family during his time with them; his present knowledge was insufficient to do more than assist. Had they known—had he known—
He forcibly swallowed down the grief, pushed it to the side. Not now. She would have reminded him to stay focused and safe. (She wouldn't have answered an Ascian's summons. Unless, perhaps, if she was planning an ambush—which Urianger certainly hadn't.) He waited, watched, counting the distant drips of water, wondering how long it would be before someone else arrived.
He heard a soft slithering sound—metal on metal—and looked up just in time to see conjured chains lower from the ceiling and wrap around his limbs far more quickly than he could attempt to squirm away, holding him fast as the Ascian turned to him.
- - -
A fortnight or so ago—shortly before his plan had crystallized in the wake of the banquet, a happy enough accident— Elidibus had come to Lahabrea with a simple request. "Tell me of Her champion's companions," he'd said.
Lahabrea's first answer was a summary of their suitability as hosts, naturally. "For your purposes," he had said, "there is a young warrior who is also among Her chosen who would be nearly ideal. He's newer to their order—any slips would be less likely to be noticed—and largely isolated after recent events. Well-suited to melee combat, besides."
Elidibus shook his head. "No. I am content with the body I inhabit currently—I do not seek a host, but someone I can use to keep tabs on the Eikon-slayer, among other potential duties." If Lahabrea had managed to keep quiet about his choice of hosts, they might still have access to the resources he needed. “They will be on alert for further interference after Nabriales’ blunder; I dare not plant a black-masked agent among the Scions at this point."
"You're looking for a mortal who can be lured to your service."
"Someone who might be willing to... overlook past transgressions should it serve the Star's salvation, yes."
Lahabrea had suggested very few names, and the events of the past two weeks had made Elidibus' optimal choice clear; further discussion had revealed some potential points of weakness that could be exploited. Thus had the invitation been written, the plans laid, and Lahabrea offered a measure of catharsis in exchange for his services. The field in which Elidibus' seeds of salvation would be planted would be thoroughly tilled before he made his presence known. He remained close, both to bear witness and to enjoy what he might from the process. He did not enjoy inflicting pain as Lahabrea did, nor was it witnessing the pain he enjoyed... but he did savor his victims’ cries for salvation, the nectar of their faith and their hope, sweet and heady as honeyed mead. And oh, the aftermath... he had been looking forward to this feast for days, now.
He waited out of sight, thought well within earshot.
"How did you learn of this place?" Lahabrea demanded. Elidibus heard the chains shift, although they had gone mostly quiet. The elezen's physical struggles hadn't lasted long at all, which fit into Lahabrea's profile of him.
Elidibus had expected that Urianger would lie; he found his answer far more impressive. There was hesitation, then a soft, pained gasp as Lahabrea encouraged him to speak. "Thy—thy brother, he who beareth garments contrary to thine own—thy opposite, who seeketh not destruction, but connection. By his hand was such invitation offered." It was the naked truth, but he told it like a story. And there it was, the first succulent drops of hope—paradoxically, the hope that Lahabrea would reject his words as a lie.
He had also been profiled as quite clever.
"Has he, now?" Lahabrea growled. He heard more gasps, then harsh breaths. Urianger was stubbornly holding back any louder cries. "What purpose would Elidibus have for a student of the very prophecies we planted? For a primal researcher when it was we who taught men how to call down their gods incarnate? What could you—a pathetic, Echoless mortal— possibly reveal that he doesn't already know?" Lahabrea laughed, and the hope intensified. Urianger did not answer with words, but Elidibus could imagine him—perhaps looking away from Lahabrea as if to hide his feelings of shame at his arrogance, or simply pretending that it was because he knew he'd been caught in a lie.
The next sound he heard was that of a sharp slap.
Lahabrea had, in return for having been presented this opportunity to vent his frustrations on a mithril platter, agreed to not deal any injury that was not in Elidibus’ power to heal; it would scarcely do to have his pawn crippled, after all. Fortunately for the credibility of the “interrogation,” Elidibus was a skilled healer. Magic came easily to him; it had ever since
ever since he
it had for a very long time now. Even if he did not remember learning them, he could cast the spells, nonetheless. That (so far as he was aware) remained.
"Now," Lahabrea repeated. "How did you learn of this place?" The hope sublimated to a delightfully twisted joy that Lahabrea had (so far as Urianger knew) mistaken the truth for fiction. And Urianger played into it, resisting as long as he could despite increasing discomfort before giving up a complete lie, this one about using their aetheromoters to detect areas of null aether.
The theory is impeccable and Elidibus knows that Lahabrea must be aware, as well. In fact, it had been already realized and accounted for long ago (he presumed.) The spell that opened the Rift for teleportation included a barrier that redirected ambient aether like a mirror reflecting the light. But the fact that Urianger had intuited it was notable. "I see. They’re so desperate that they’ve made you their forward scout?" Lahabrea asked, his tone mocking. "Or are you merely their replacement designated Ascian investigator in light of the truly stunning incompetence of the last one?"
Urianger once again refused to answer.
"I wonder... You usually worked alone, as I recall. Did you tell anyone where you were going? Or did you bravely come alone, to make sure that no one else would be lost if you failed?"
Elidibus could sense the shock as his guess hit home—his hope taking a solid blow. Yes, Elidibus had directed him to come alone and to tell none, of course, and watched to ensure he had obeyed. To let Lahabrea know for certain that no one would come to search for him, that no salvation would come—that was dangerous knowledge. "I know you didn’t tell them, you fool," Lahabrea growled.
Urianger whimpered, then—showing fear for the first time.
"There's no rush to pull the truth from you, then—you'll give it to me happily by the time I'm done. In fact, you’ll give me anything I ask of you." Lahabrea hummed softly in contemplation, boots clicking against the stone. “It would be rather entertaining to turn your precious faith to the worship of the true God. Even if Hydaelyn still had the strength to answer the prayers of someone like you, why would She? You’re no warrior of the Light, after all. Just a cowardly researcher who hides behind his books while his dear friends die.”
"No matter thy methods, fiend," the elezen answered, his voice trembling, "thou wilt not see me broken by word or by action."
"A challenge, then." Elidibus heard crackling, then, and smelled smoke, then burning flesh. Gasps of pain. His colleague could make such an art out of agony. And it was scarcely as if Elidibus had nothing to gain from this—from the elezen’s steadfast hope that rescue would come, that this would soon end. It was sweet, just as sweet as he’d expected as fire burned and claws sliced delicate, mortal flesh. As Lahabrea taunted him, explaining that it would take only a few words before this was all over. “All you must do is swear yourself to Zodiark,” he explained, knowing that the elezen would do no such thing. “Repudiate your false goddess.”
And yet he refused, and yet he resisted—even when he could no longer hold back the screams as Lahabrea turned all his magic and wit alike to the task of his own personal satisfaction. Elidibus could feel his emotions shifting in response to Lahabrea’s actions and words, seeking a way out, a rare delicacy.
In time his hope came to a potent peak, then started to fade—fading into despair, accepting this as the fate of the foolish. Elidibus let him bask in it. Lahabrea had done a wonderful job of breaking him, after all, and he deserved a bit of pleasure of his own. (But even now the elezen hadn’t surrendered—simply accepted that he would be tormented indefinitely. Strong-willed, he noted.) He listened as Lahabrea’s words once more turned mocking.
“And at last you yield,” Lahabrea said, the crackle of flames ceasing for the moment. “Yet you have not said a word in quite some time. I remember you being rather more loquacious. Insufferably so, in fact.”
“Thou hast given me nothing to speak of. I will not submit myself to the worship of chaos.”
“You know not of what you speak. Of what despair Hydaelyn has brought upon the Star. You are an inferior, stunted being—perhaps you are utterly incapable of grasping it.”
Urianger cried out again, and then there was the sound of claw rending cloth; the cries became rough sobs of pain as Lahabrea chuckled low. “You will bear His sigils, even if you refuse His grace.”
Elidibus waited until he felt Lahabrea was satisfied to start the second act of this show. He teleported into sight and feigned shock, as if he had just arrived and been surprised by the scene before him. "Lahabrea," he said, a degree of anger in his voice that wasn’t entirely feigned—Lahabrea had been busily carving sacred sigils into the elezen’s skin. While they were beautiful, they were bleeding him to the point where Elidibus was concerned. Without intervention he might well bleed out.
The next lines were rehearsed—negotiating the surrender of the elezen to Elidibus. While they spoke in their own tongue, they had settled on a story just in case Urianger really did secretly have the Gift. Urianger was hanging limp in the chains, his robes largely burned or torn away, shaking visibly, hoping beyond hope that this would be the end and showing no sign that he understood their discussion. Lahabrea was soon “coaxed” into surrender; he lowered the elezen to the floor, dismissed the conjured chains, and departed to the rift.
And so Urianger remained, a trembling heap at Elidibus’s feet. He knelt next to the elezen. “Here. Let me see,” he murmured, his voice low, warm, firm. "It's all right. You're safe now."
Urianger flinched away from his touch; Elidibus persisted, pressing a hand to unburned skin gently before he started to channel healing magics, warm and soothing. (It was a pity to remove the sigils—perhaps he would one day be able to properly mark the elezen.) Urianger whimpered softly, then seemed to recognize the spells for what they were; he slowly leaned into his hand, yellow eyes closing tight.
"Good," Elidibus murmured; Urianger whimpered again in response. "Good,” he repeated. “Let me take care of you. Let me heal you. If you hadn't answered my plea you would never have found yourself in such a situation, after all." He kept healing as the man shuddered under his hands, clearly and unsurprisingly in shock. The burned skin sloughed off, leaving pink, new, tender skin exposed through the scorched holes in the fabric. "You're safe with me. There, now. Lean against me. Breathe." And he moved, then, drawing Urianger into his arms, head tucked in against him, and held him there until the trembling subsided and his breathing slowed.
"That's it. Very good. I'm going to take you somewhere safer, now. Somewhere you can rest comfortably." He kept his voice gentle, yet authoritative. The elezen nodded silently before settling his head back on Elidibus' shoulder. Elidibus murmured low praise, then took a moment to gather Urianger’s dropped bags and goggles (both for goodwill and to make certain that he left behind no clues) before he teleported the unresisting Elezen to the lair he’d prepared for just this purpose—to Urianger it would seem not capture, but rescue.
It was a cavern carved from solid stone—several small, connected rooms, comfortable and cozy, in a cave with no apparent exit. A dry cave, mind you, with warm, enchanted floors and gayly painted walls, lit evenly by magical means. While Urianger would, of course, be able to teleport out once the shock passed, Elidibus was reasonably certain he wouldn’t seek to escape before he had fully recovered so long as he did not feel as if he were threatened or trapped.
He had teleported them to the bathing chambers; he removed his gloves, then stripped Urianger of the burned rags with a healer's touch—efficient and clinical— before he took up a warm, wet cloth and washed the drying blood and ashes from his skin gently, using a touch more healing magic where it seemed to be needed. Urianger remained in a passive state, although the violent shuddering had passed; he opened his eyes when Elidibus stopped washing him, looking around with clear curiosity. “Where is this, if I might ask thee—?” he asked, his voice rough and strained. Elidibus hadn’t healed his throat; he had gauged that the damage would mend on its own in due time, and the lingering discomfort would serve as a keen reminder of Elidibus’ salvation any time the elezen questioned the lessons that were soon to be imparted.
“This is a sanctuary I keep. A personal one, mind you, not a common meeting ground like the fortress. Its physical location is of no import; I will return you safely to your home once you’re well again.” Elidibus set the rag aside. “Can you stand?” he asked. “There’s a bed in the next room, and you’ll want for food and rest after such an ordeal. We can speak in greater depth once you’ve slept. The matters I called upon you to discuss are pressing, but not so urgent that they cannot wait that long.”
Urianger nodded and slowly rose to his feet with a pained sound; while his wounds had been mended, he would doubtlessly be sore. Elidibus offered an arm in support and helped him to the bedroom, then pulled aside the blankets so he could sit. “Very good. Make yourself comfortable; I will be back soon with refreshment.”
Urianger nodded, and Elidibus stepped out. He’d left ample food and water while preparing the sanctum and quickly fetched a tray with a large glass of juice and some small finger sandwiches for his guest. Urianger drank the juice eagerly, then started on the sandwiches with somewhat less enthusiasm; he didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Elidibus didn’t push him to speak, yet; he simply stayed nearby, and when Urianger was done he offered him another glass of water, then quietly encouraged him to lie down.
Urianger nestled into the soft mattress and curled up small once the blankets were drawn over him. “Thou art a host most gracious,” he murmured. But he had started to tremble again, and when Elidibus reached down to gently brush back his hair he pressed into his hand as a drowning man embraces the air.
“Would you like for me to stay with you?” he asked.
“I prithee,” Urianger breathed. Excellent. Elidibus lay down with him then, blankets separating them, and settled an arm over him; Urianger pressed once more into him, hiding his face at the crook of neck and shoulder, a quiet, choked sound escaping him. “Forgive—I beg thee—”
Elidibus shushed him. “You need not beg forgiveness, for you have not trespassed. This is understandable after all you’ve been through these last few weeks, much less the last few bells. You are under my protection now, safe and no longer alone, and you shall be cared for for.”
Urianger shattered at that—as Elidibus had hoped he would— breaking into uncontrolled, wracking sobs. Elidibus held him through it, murmuring gentle words, binding the Scion to him—not through sorcery or tempering, but simply by offering him comfort and guidance in the darkest of hours, by mending him after he found himself broken. His hands slipped under the blanket, exposed fingertips rubbing soft circles into his shoulders. “That’s it. You have been so strong, so brave. Endured so much.” Urianger seemed to yearn for praise; he could feel hope sparking in his soul as he murmured it.
And when he quieted again—his grief and regret and pain utterly spent— Elidibus slipped away for a moment, only to return with tea—a soporific herbal blend, sweetened heavily with honey. “Here,” he murmured. “Sit up for me. This will help you sleep without pain or nightmares.”
Urianger did and took the tea gladly, albeit silently. His first sip was curious, the second drink greedy—he clearly recognized the flavor and welcomed it. Another good sign; he was willing to accept a drugged sleep and the vulnerability that entailed in Elidibus’ presence. “Good,” Elidibus murmured. “I’ll be right here when you wake. You must rest and heal.”
Urianger finished the tea and then laid back down, his exhaustion apparent. “Thank thee,” he answered, his voice still rough from overuse. “Thou hast shown such care—why, I ask thee?”
“Because I need you,” Elidibus answered, even as he drew the blankets back around the Elezen and tucked him in before he laid down behind him—curled to fit to his back—and placed an arm around him again. “The fate of a star rests on our actions—and I cannot do this unaided. But, as I said, it is not so urgent that it cannot wait for your recovery. Sleep deeply, and I will speak to you of it on the morrow.”
Urianger looked back at Elidibus wide-eyed for several seconds—clearly hesitating—before he nodded. “As is thy will,” he murmured, then rested his head, curling in a little further. His hope burned sweet and bright and delightful; Elidibus drank it in. It was but moments before sleep claimed him, his breathing slowing and steadying out as he settled in to rest.
It was a promising start. On the morrow, Elidibus would teach him much—of Hydaelyn’s treachery, of the shattered Star and the long quest to mend it. And, prepared as he had been, Urianger would trust his “savior” far more easily than he would any other Ascian. Elidibus settled a hand over his mortal’s heart and closed his eyes to await his awakening and the germination of the seeds that had been planted tonight. This would be a productive partnership, indeed.