From the first, Alisaie had always yearned to be a free spirit. Captain of her own destiny, flitting across Eorzea in the precise way her father would have hated, a trail of bound ne'er-do-wells and starry eyed civilians in her wake. In it she would find her answer to the question of her grandfather’s sacrifice, and it would most certainly not be within the politicking that Alphinaud so loved to parlay with— However pure her brother’s heart, she knew the truth. Louisoux died on the field, amongst warriors. Therefore Alisaie could not think the answer lied anywhere else, not while she knew salvation had been delivered through blood, sweat, and tears while those figureheads had sat around twiddling their thumbs.

She could still feel the sting of defeat, once she had been forced to bend the knee to Aliphinaud and the Scions, however juvenile the feeling may have been.

She had failed, yet the fault had laid entirely upon her shoulders. She had been immature— too weak to enforce her ideals through her strength, too brash, impatient... The list could go on, could she spare the time for self-pity. Of which there was none, when she stood alongside the Scions, stood besides her. For by Alphinaud’s side she saw the woman she dreamed herself one day to be, valiant and proud, her Herculean feats carved through her own two hands, scarred and calloused yet unflinching. If it had been Eithne, she could have torn the star asunder in search for the truth, and she wouldn’t have been poisoned, wouldn’t have had to suffer Urianger’s darkened, pitying stare.

She had watched her closely, closer than she felt anyone could watch another, across the Ruby Sea, carving through Garlean steal and Primal flesh, watched her put each foot in front of the other, even as her body struggled to stay upright, even as her soul cracked under the weight of Nordvrant’s Light. She was everything a hot-blooded Sharlayan could aspire to be, and at the same time she knew she could never compare to her in any way that could matter to Alisaie. And so, Alisaie settled on a new goal: she would become her own woman, one Eithne could look upon with pride, one deserving of the love she gave so freely to her— and to the others, of course.

So, it wasn’t so difficult to understand G’raha Tia.

They were quite similar, though Alisaie would never admit it out loud. Their differences, his studious Alphinaud-like nature, his extreme humility in the face of his achievements, were nothing in the face of what Alisaie felt was most important, what she felt was most likely what drew the two of them to her. Hot-blooded, honest to a fault,Sharlayan— Alisaie could roll her eyes all the way to the moon at the sight of him, trailing after her like a schoolboy, and yet she knew better than anyone the feeling that spurred him. A hero of eld made flesh, mercy and righteous justice burning in her breast, so on and so forth. It was what small-minded island children dreamed of, their noses buried within historical tomes, their soft hands unmarred by strife, never knowing the bitter aftertaste of hard-fought victories.

Just like she had been, not so long ago.

It was no surprise she couldn’t bring herself to dis like him, even if he had almost killed them all. He had almost directly killed Alisaie herself, pulling her soul across the rift and letting her body ragdoll in the middle of a godsdamned battlefield. He had orchestrated such an ingeniously dangerous plan and, worst of all, he had caused Eithne untold suffering. Although she could never forgive him, Alisaie knew she would do it all over again, had she the choice.

Well, perhaps without allowing Eithne to absorb enough Light to birth a star.

Her constant watch over Eithne had now become a watch over them both. He was her rival, though the meaning that held was inconsequential to anyone but Alisaie. She had lost the battle long before his arrival, and she knew better than anyone that her attempts to patiently wait out the years had been nothing but a daydream, one that Alisaie must wake from to face a new day. One where Eithne is smiling at him with a tenderness Alisaie had rarely seen, her twinkling laughter now so common that Alisaie could scarcely believe she had not always laughed so generously, that she had spent so many days in silence, her listless, glassy eyes staring past the horizon and towards something terrifying and unknowable.

Captain of her own destiny she may be, Alisaie had come to know that to weather the seas one must be willing to change. To steer herself and those she loved towards a brighter future, she must not fear what is to come, but rather ride the winds of change while holding fast to that which mattered most. It was a lesson she had bashed her head against, fought with every step of the way, and had come out bruised and regretful each time. She could not give what someone might need most were she to remain inflexible— She had had to dig six-feet into frosted earth for that lesson to finally settle.

Eithne’s happiness preceded all, pride be damned.

And so, she extended her hand to G’raha Tia, even if it burned, even if she’d had to fight the urge to ball it into a fist and smash it against the wall.

“Where are you going?” It had come out more curt than she had wanted, the sound all the more sharp and biting in the pleasant clime of Labyrinthos.

“A-Ah, Alisaie!” He almost jumped at the sound, his hands cradling a familiar brown paper bag. “I had thought to bring some snacks for all of us, seeing as we have found ourselves with idle hands for the time being.”

All of us, she thinks, the thought bringing with it some frustration. He was always so thoughtful, his advances so measured yet earnest, just like he had been on the First. Even as she knew he had been thinking of nothing but his beloved hero, he never failed to reach out to the Scions, his friends, with just as much sincerity.

It had been churlish of her, she would admit now, but at the time she could scarcely bring herself to act any other way. Pushing herself off the wall she had been leaning against, Alisaie walked over to him and, before he had time to realize it, promptly plucked the bag from his unsuspecting grasp. She opened it to inspect the contents, ignoring G’raha’s sputtering, the way his ears twitched in surprise and confusion.

Sweets, donuts. Alisaie lists the contents in her head, taking heed of their scent and color. Sandwiches.

“Blueberry lemon.” She says it curtly, a familiar warmth finding its way across her cheeks as she hands the bag back to him. “Make sure to give Eithne the blueberry lemon scone.”

“Oh?” He should be irritated, were he anyone else, and yet Alisaie can find none of it. Instead, his eyes widen at her name, his tail almost wagging at the sound, and Alisaie cannot help but look away from him. “Thank you, I did not know she enjoyed that flavor.”

Alisaie is about to brush it off, before G’raha Tia surprises her, as he always does.

“Did you find anything of interest? I must admit I haphazardly selected these.” He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I can only hope that everyone can enjoy them.”

Always so kind, so giving, it was no wonder Eithne could not help but accept his hand each time. How could one not, when his voice held no malice, the striking crimson of his Allagan eyes unable to hide even the smallest deception. If Alisaie had resented his secretive nature in Norvrandt, she had gained a new, irritating clarity on it now— His plan would have come undone in an instant, had he not shrouded himself in robes, surrounded his heart in impenetrable crystal.

She considers her response carefully, despite the shrug she gives him.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t happen to see my favorite chocolate chip cookies in there.” From the corner of her eyes she sees the furrow of his brow, the apology on the tip of his tongue— “But . Those jam filled donuts are a close second.”