So Elegant, So Precise

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The Warrior of Light is a known master of any and every weapon. The sword, the lance, the scythe, the axe... A rhyme popular amongst children depicts her vanquishing foes with "marbles and thimbles, just one hand— single!"

We know that our warrior turned to a Far Eastern sword style while freeing oppressed nations from Garlean occupation. Their crown prince, Zenos yae Galvus, had long since adopted and excelled in that technique. With Doman blades he cut her down, but spared her life. He bade her grow strong enough to challenge him again, then turned his back as she bled out on Ala Mhigan sand.

As the legends go, our warrior takes every challenge to heart. A rare defeat only bolsters her resolve. Thereafter, each time she faced Zenos, she left him in awe of her bladework. So skilled in the ways of the samurai, she was! So elegant, so precise! To prove how completely she had surpassed him, she even killed him with his own sword.

Some say that was the last time she held a katana. Others claim it remains her weapon of choice in certain climates. All are delighted by this tale of a villain bested— in his own specialty!— by one spirited hero.

We could go on at length about the political implications of this tale. Scour every detail for hidden meaning and poetic irony. We might debate: does the Warrior of Light relish in her superiority? Or is she truly so sporting, so earnest? There is much to say about the life and legacy of Liborette Iudicium...

... but you came to hear a true story, didn't you?

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"I just don't like it," she sobbed. "I don't."

"Shh, shh, I know. You keep saying so."

"'Cause I don't like it!"

"Aye, Liborette, hush now... I heard you the first time."

Fray paced along the riverside while her apprentice clung to her neck. Gyr Abania was a desert much like Ul'dah, where one spent the whole day sweating and the whole night shivering. Alas, no warmth of the physical kind could be found in Fray's embrace. Only a solidness, a bit of shelter, chest-to-chest. Under the stars, in this dry wind, Liborette trembled— perhaps less from the cold, more from pure misery. Who knows how long she had been crying.

"I wanna go homeee..."

"I'd love nothing more than to take you back to Ishgard, were it so simple. But you know as well as I that we're tangled in complicated affairs."

"Sordid affairs," she said, sniffling. "Stupid shite ass awful affairs."

Fray laughed. "We'll work on your cussing."

Instead of pouting, grumbling, kicking, or calling her mean (which honestly would have made her proud), Liborette clung tighter. "Hold me..."

A direct request, no matter how whiny, proved her growth. In the past she cried wordlessly, often inconsolably, ignorant of her most basic needs. Graduating to a full tantrum... yes, that was progress indeed.

"Fray," she whimpered. "Hug!"

"Yes, I'm here. I'm holding you." To remind her, she patted her bottom and bounced her a little.

She cried less as they walked more, back and forth by the waterside. Though it still reflected the moon in mud-grey, most of the blood and debris had washed downstream. By next week, the water would run clear as ever. They had the waterfall— the beating heart of Rhalgr's Reach— to thank for that. Fray thanked it for its ambience, too. Because consolation was among her least developed skills, she assumed Liborette was more comforted by the sounds of water and wind than her words.

Her hands, however... The girl practically melted at her touch. She stroked her back in time to her own steady breathing: up for the inhale, down to let it slowly out. To her delight, her apprentice understood the unspoken instruction and did her best to follow. With each sigh, she sagged pleasantly in her arms, falling asleep.

"Well done," she said. "Very well done, little one, saying what you need." Liborette's craving for praise outweighed the risk of waking her. Thankfully, she didn't stir for much more than a gratious nod.

While Fray had walked every step of this journey by her side, she was more of a suggestion than a person. A voice in the dark. A figure in a dream. They exchanged thousands of words in perfect silence. No one but Liborette saw her, and even then, Liborette could not see her as often as she wished. It was only recently, after some strangeness with the Soul Crystal they shared, that Fray became permanently affixed to her periphery.

And in moments like these, when the poor girl's emotions spiralled into aetheric frenzies, Fray found herself in solid form. She emerged from the shadow of memory, imagination, whatever, into the light of reality. Her light gave her life... And no sooner than she materialised did Liborette throw herself upon her, begging to be hugged. Of course Fray obliged. It felt good to be needed. Better knowing the touch was real.

But reality came with consequences. Hypothetically, any poor bastard could stumble out of his bed for a piss and see them there... The Warrior of Light, shushed and rocked to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Would she be mistaken for an intruder? Walking amongst the still-smoking rubble of the Empire's assault, she'd find no fault in the assumption. Many had died, and those who survived remained on high alert. Naturally, they aimed to protect what they still had. But anyone who attacked, or worst yet tried to separate them, would meet the bad end of her blade.

Fray wondered if she could carry Liborette in one hand and brandish her greatsword with the other. An attractive image. She supposed she could do anything her conjurer wished of her. Right now, she wished to be held. And to talk softly, it seemed, finished with her tantrum but not with her worries.

She murmured, "try as I might, I continue thinking about it."

"Memories are fickle things, aren't they?"

"I feel as if time stopped at that moment. I am dragged back there again and again."

"Let me pull you in the opposite direction. To the present, little dark knight. With me."

"I... no longer wish to be a dark knight..."

A gust of wind blew dust over her boots, suddenly still. "You'd forsake the path to walk in the light?"

"No! The dark suits me, it does. I— sorry, I misspoke..."

"Hush. Spare me the apology, Liborette, and say what you mean."

She drew back to search Fray's eyes for signs of reproval, and relaxed when she found none. Her own expression shone with innocent yearning. "I would remain in the dark, together with you. All I require is a different manner of weapon."

"Oh, is that all?"

"Yes. Something more... precise."

Heretofore, they'd equipped themselves with greatswords. Liborette's was as long as she was tall, half as heavy as her full weight. There was some artistry in dark knight combat, of course, but a fair share of frenzy, too. Bludgeoning, slashing wide, blacking out and waking to a pile of bodies at one's feet...

"Precision, hm." Fray nodded thoughtfully. "What of those swords from the Far East? Thin as a needle and just as sharp, besides."

"It would inflict minimal damage to the area while affording me maximum reach..."

"If you slice them up small enough, you won't even need to dispose of them."

"Oh, suffer the thought!" She grabbed at Fray again, who kindly stifled her laughter and patted her back. "Would that I never see such vermin again, let alone touch one with mine own hands."

"So every time a cockroach scuttles through your bunk, you'll summon me to dispose of it?"

"Why not!" She pouted. "I like you."

"And I like when you're self-sufficient. Take up the katana, Liborette."

"They are sending me to Doma, anyroad." She sighed wishfully now, her excitement rising with every word. "I wonder what it is like. Do you suppose it is very beautiful? Will the stars look the same, even so far away?"

When matters among humans grew too chaotic, wounds of the heart too painful, one could always find solace in the sky. Before the Calamity, the weather in Ishgard was not so constantly overcast. Fray grew up watching the clouds and the hawks with cold rain on her face. Nevermind her want for a roof— she wanted to travel. That selfsame lust for adventure she found in her apprentice. And through her apprentice, she recognised her own need for companionship.

To hold Liborette now, so small and warm... A woman who killed gods, cried over insects, and calmed quickly when shushed like a child... Fray watched her watch the sky and said, "no matter where we go, the stars in your eyes remain. That is the only beauty I need."

"Oh." She startled, blushed, and smiled, then tucked one braid behind her ear and asked, "truly?"

"Well, I'm also told the flowers bloom magnificently in spring..."

"Fray!" She kicked her.

"What could be more beautiful?" She laughed and drew her close. If only they could share a proper kiss. Liborette pecking at her faceplate would have to suffice. "Who could I love but you?"

"Even if I take up a different sword?"

"You are more than who and how you kill, little samurai."

"Am I?"

"Of course." Someone was in the mood for excessive questions, another in the mood to indulge her. "Nevertheless I look forward to watching you grow."

"You will only watch?"

"Much of the time, that's all I can do... And I enjoy it to the fullest."

"Me. You enjoy me." How rarely anyone saw her self-satisfied smile, as confident as she should always be.

"I adore you."

"I... um..." Her eyes filled with tears.

Of course, Fray had forgotten. Silently she cursed herself, cursed the one who came before her, and forgave her beloved for her grief. Frustrating as it was, she understood. The only one she hated was he who laid claim to her heart, and in death left so many promises unfulfilled.

"I need you," she said finally, "please stay."

A direct request— how far they had come. Once more, Fray paced along the waterside and rubbed her back. "Sleep in my arms. In the morrow, you'll wake in your cot."

"Mhmm."

"Before long, you'll be overseas, somewhere better than here. I'll be with you. Always."

She wiped her nose on Fray's coat and mumbled something like, "thank you."

"Until then, let me kill the bugs."