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“Did you hear? A Blasphemy still plagues Ishgard.”
“Surely you mean the Twelveswood? A gleaner told me just yesterday—”
“No, no, my cousin saw it herself!”
“Could they both be true…? Twelve forfend…”
Mjram groaned from her bed, ears twitching as they picked up the words of the Leveilleur servants in the hallway outside her guest suite. Everything hurt. She flexed her feet against the soft sheets, still stiff after trekking across Ultima Thule. Her arms and wrists were limp after gripping her lance and staff for so long. Even breathing ached, as Urianger had told her it would even after they’d healed the multiple broken ribs from her fight with Zenos. She’d probably punctured a lung (or worse), and they’d decided not to tell her, trying to spare her from the truth of her condition.
As though she couldn’t surmise that the prayers of her friends were the only reason her heart still beat at all.
The Warrior of Light was all but spent.
She still reached for the corner of the duvet, ready to fling it off and return to her duty.
A calloused hand gripped hers before she could. “I think not.”
Mjram sighed, the rough voice soothing, “Estinien.” Then, she frowned and opened her eyes, looking at him blearily. He looked much better than she felt, sitting in a chair at her bedside. The curtains were drawn over the window behind him, but no sunlight peeked around the edges. Night, then. Or early morning.
She coughed once, trying to clear her throat after days barely speaking. “The Radiant Host warned me about those Blasphemies weeks ago. Every casualty is my—”
“Every casualty is the responsibility of their leaders, not yours.”
“Tell that to the families of the victims.”
Estinien was unmoved, raising an eyebrow. “You put your life on the line to save the entire star. Anyone being attacked by a Blasphemy would already be worse than dead if not for you.”
Mjram tried to level a glare at him, but the energy she’d gathered to attempt to get up was already fading.
Estinien used his other hand to gently pinch her lower lip. “Don’t pout at me. You’d just injure yourself. Do you want to make the twins cry again?”
Mjram cringed. Alisaie’s heartbroken sobs were the last thing she remembered before she awoke on the Ragnarok. She grudgingly settled back into the white pillows. “‘ine,” she mumbled around his fingers. He released her, but remained leaning forward.
“When did you last sleep?” Mjram asked.
Estinien looked like he was about to brush off the question when a sudden yawn cut him off. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the low light in the room, she could see that his hair was coming out of its tie and his dark blue shirt was rumpled.
She snorted. “Too long ago,” she answered for him, and patted the sheets beside her. “Get in.”
He stared at her for a moment before shrugging, bending down to take off his boots. “The bed does look more comfortable than this chair.”
“Extravagant chair though it is,” Mjram replied. Like everything in the Leveilleurs’ mansion, it took “good craftsmanship” to new heights with intricately carved arms and plush upholstery that probably cost more than a servant’s monthly wages.
Estinien made a noncommittal noise, getting up and walking around to the other side of the bed. Mjram smiled and pulled back the sheets on the other side of the bed rather than her own.
“This is excessive,” Estinien muttered, scooting across the admittedly massive mattress. “It’s fit for five people.”
Mjram moved closer, ignoring her aches and pains to reach him in the middle. She settled on her side, looping her arms around his midsection and burying her face against his shoulder. “I think it’s quite full as it is.”
Estinien didn’t respond—save for slinging an arm over her waist—but Mjram was content to enjoy his closeness.
“How many days has it been?” she asked after a while. She only remembered waking intermittently to chirurgeons—or the healers among her friends—or to a nearly empty room, but someone was always in the chair at her bedside.
“Three,” Estinien replied. “There was never a question of your recovery, but no one was certain how long it would take.” He paused. “By the look of your wounds, you’ll be confined to bedrest for some time yet.”
Mjram pursed her lips, but didn’t argue. Maybe it would be good for her. When was the last time she stayed in any one place for more than a few days?
“Perhaps…a vacation is in order.”
“...Words I never expected to hear from you.” Estinien did indeed sound surprised. “Where would you go?”
“Thavnair.” The answer came so quickly, Mjram wondered at how she hadn’t come to this decision sooner. “I’d like to see Radz-at-Han when it isn’t under threat.”
Estinien laughed once. “Convenient, that.” At her raised eyebrow, he continued, “Vrtra—or Varshahn?—spoke to me this morning. He offered me a considerable sum to train the Radiant Host once my business has concluded here. You could join me once you’ve recovered.”
Mjram hummed. “That is convenient. Although I would be loath to use your employment for my own purposes.”
Estinien rolled his eyes. “You know that’s absurd. Vrtra would no doubt have invited you already if you weren’t convalescing.”
“Mm, you may have a point…”
She tried to picture it. She would probably be offered a lavish suite at Meghaduta with the freedom to come and go as she pleased (although she would likely turn down the room and instead impose on wherever Estinien was staying during his tenure). She could sample the tantalizing cuisine that had called to her even during the Final Days. She could explore the markets at her leisure—maybe even buy some new clothes in those vibrant, silky textiles.
And the weather. The humidity and baking sun sounded like a dream compared to Sharlayan, where the cold dampness chased her even beneath these bedsheets. Even the climate in Ishgard hadn’t been quite this miserable.
At least now she could steal her companion’s body heat now. She smiled to herself, curling up closer and breathing his warmth in deeply.
“I will follow you to Thavnair, then,” Mjram said, tilting her head up to look at Estinien, who cracked open an eye at her attention. “Although I shall be cross if I arrive only to find that one of their famed dancers has stolen you away from me.”
Estinien huffed, half-amused and half-exasperated. “If they couldn’t tempt me every other time I’ve ventured to Thavnair, I doubt they could succeed now.” His hold tightened on her waist. “I’m not likely to squander the chance we have to enjoy a little peace.”
“Peace…that sounds nice.” Peace, after decades of wars and world-ending phenomena that had followed her almost from the moment she left her village. To be able to travel and experience the star as a simple adventurer, as she had wanted to do from the beginning…
“Perhaps you will take me on a proper outing, as normal people do when they court,” Mjram teased. “As in, not the training grounds.”
“Hm.” Estinien moved his hand from her side to smooth her ears back against the pillows. She closed her eyes, basking in the sensation. “If posturing is what you want, I know a few places to eat. Still, by the time you’ve recovered, I wouldn’t doubt that you’ll be ready for another adventure.”
“Take me on an adventure, then,” she conceded, smiling. “When you’re not trouncing the Radiant Host.”
Mjram felt him shift in her arms, and then warm lips were on hers. She sighed, happily kissing him back. She wondered if he, too, was looking forward to being able to enjoy quiet mornings like this. No battles calling them away, just a bed insisting they stay for a little while longer. Day after day, night after night.
A whisper at the back of her mind reminded her that they would be found in the morning—dozing and wrapped up in each other—by whoever was sent to assess her condition, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had the promise of rest, the chance to enjoy this relationship that had started just as the world was ending, and absolutely nothing that required her to be the Warrior of Light.