Chapter Text
Year of the Realm 874
Had you been told, even just a few months ago, that you would find yourself living in the middle of a lake among a community of people that ranges from fighters to elderly bearers, you wouldn’t have believed it. Then again, if someone had told you years ago you would leave the comfort of your home to explore the rest of the Twins, you wouldn’t have believed it either. Your life, it seems, keeps taking unexpected turns.
It all started when you left your home in Twinside, eager to discover the rest of Storm. Well, eager might not be the most appropriate as the main reason you left your home was because you had stolen money from the wrong person and there were only so many places to hide in the Crystalline Dominion. In your defence, you thought the man wouldn’t notice, what’s a hundred gil for a man of his status? As it turned out, the rich pay closer attention to their purses than you had anticipated.
Eventually, after the excitement of new adventures and exploration from the beginning had worn off, you found yourself at Martha’s Rest, looking for a place to hopefully settle down. Luckily for you, Martha had been looking for someone to help out at the inn and although she was wary at first — who wouldn’t be cautious of a complete stranger with a secret such as hers? — you developed a strong bond and she eventually let you in on her side activity.
And so, when a merry band mostly consisting of bearers and fighters, found a hiding place in the inn’s barn, Martha let you in on the secret. That’s where you met Clive for the first time. He seemed a bit lost, fidgety like he was always on the verge of running away but it was clear from observing the rest of the group that they saw him as a leader. At the time, you would have said that they had made a poor choice and should re-evaluate their decision, especially since Otto seemed to be a much better fit.
Now, many moons later, there’s no one else you could imagine leading the rest of you. The Hideaway is the way it is because everyone is involved in one way or another, it’s a group effort, but Clive is the one who inspires, he’s the one taking on the biggest challenges and risks out there. At first glance, it seems like the fidgety young man is gone, but the truth is, you don’t have to scratch the surface for long before you catch a glimpse of him underneath.
Your decision to move to the Hideaway once its construction was far enough along to allow it was, admittedly, an impulsive one. Seeing as their numbers had been reduced since the fall of their previous home, it would have been difficult for them to finish rebuilding and have some form of normality in their everyday life at the same time; there were more tasks to be done than they could handle. Moving in with them seemed like your chance to do good. To help bearers in a way neither Martha nor you could at that point. And so, after a heartfelt discussion, you parted ways with Martha and embarked on a small boat with a couple of others, sailing towards your new home.
Adjusting to your new life proved difficult at first. Everyone already knew each other from their previous home, had gone through atrocities together, and forged bonds you could never truly understand. Not everyone was particularly welcoming either, and although you now understand it’s the way grief is expressed by some people, at the time all you could feel was rejection, and it hurt. You felt like an intruder, like you didn’t have your place there after all despite your dedication to seeing the construction reach its end and making sure everyone felt at home at the new Hideaway. Sadness soon mixed with anger and resentment. You had done nothing but help them while they were in Martha’s barn and you wanted to help them further but it seemed like your help was unwanted and pushed aside.
It was Torgal, Clive’s hound, who noticed it first. Dogs are quite perceptive when it comes to emotions, much to your surprise, and so when you sat alone for yet another dinner after everyone had left for the night, Torgal came to see you and rested his head on your lap. His fur was surprisingly soft when you pet him and your heart felt a little bit lighter. He sat with you every night for a week after that, letting you pet him for however long you needed. Eventually, you looked forward to your time with him with such excitement, your anger subsided and so did your sadness, at least in part. You still longed to connect with the others and Torgal could feel that too.
One day, as it was Desirée’s turn to sweep the lower deck, Torgal dashed ahead of Clive who was coming back from a mission and failed to stop in time not to bump into Desirée who fell into the lake. Clive rushed over, but the look Torgal gave you at that moment was clear. It told you to help her, and it’s at that moment you realised he had done it on purpose despite knowing Desirée didn’t know how to swim. In a second, you held out your hand to the flailing young woman and hoisted her up and out of the cold water of the lake. As a token of her gratitude, she promised you a drink at the Tub & Crown before going to dry off. Meanwhile, Torgal got scolded by Clive while you stood there awkwardly, unable to leave as they were both in the way.
Seeing you drinking with Desirée triggered something in some of the others because suddenly, it wasn’t just you two anymore but a small group instead. That night, for the first time in a while, you went to bed with a smile on your face.
It would be a lie to say that the situation was magically resolved and you befriended everyone from that point on, but while a lot have yet to utter a word to you, you have friends and people you get along with just enough to have amicable discussions with from time to time. You couldn’t ask for more, and you had a dog to thank for that. To this day, it remains a secret between the two of you.
Your new friends include Tarja, who’s currently sitting at the table in the corner of the Tub & Crown, as far away from the others as possible, her head buried into her hands. She was already like that when you arrived and even the tankard full of ale you presented her with didn’t seem enough to cheer her up. That’s when you knew something had to be wrong. Tarja never passes on a free drink.
“Come on, talk to me,” you press, staring at a curtain of red hair. “You know I won’t tell anyone that you vented to me.”
At that she sighs loudly, lowers her hands and finally takes a long sip from the tankard you brought her. “Sometimes I feel like the infirmary is too much for me to handle by myself, between my research, tending to the new arrivals, daily visits from Gav because he didn’t piss quite right, and running after Clive to get him to get treatment is a lot. It’s exhausting.”
“You know-”
“But it doesn’t seem fair to complain,” she continues, cutting you off. “It’s my role to make sure everyone can be as healthy as their bodies will allow in order to live comfortably. I’m lucky enough to be healthy and able. It feels ludicrous to complain about my workload, yet here I am.”
“Maybe you-”
“But then again,” she cuts you off again, at this point you’re not even sure she can hear you, “if Gav could at least stop himself from getting injured just by breathing, it would help tremendously. And don’t get me started on Lord Stubborn.”
You can’t argue with her there, she makes fair points. Gav – while not quite visiting every day like Tarja said – visits the infirmary for the lightest of scratches. Clive teases him about it any time you guys hang out and Tarja’s mentioned, and you’re inclined to believe him to be right. Gav is a tough guy, most of his injuries don’t require a trip to the physicker, meaning he has to go for another reason and the only viable reason is that it’s to see Tarja. She seems oblivious to it, though, or she pretends to be so she doesn’t have to deal with the hassle of turning him down. Either way, although it’s not his intention, it gives Tarja more work and while he’s usually patched up in a minute, added to the rest might just be the drop that makes the vase overflow.
As for Clive, it’s the complete opposite problem. He would have to lose a limb in order to take the time to visit the infirmary and even then, it’s not certain he would. He came back from a mission about two weeks ago, limping, and while he did his damndest to hide it from everyone, most of you noticed it anyway. Otto was the first to point it out and despite the fact the infirmary was only a few feet away, Clive shrugged it off saying it was fine and that it would pass. Tarja heard about it and made it her mission to drag him to the infirmary but he’s swift and perceptive, so every time he saw her in the distance, he slipped between her fingers. Eventually, you found yourself tasked with acting as bait. All you had to do was strike up a conversation with Clive so he wouldn’t see Tarja approach from behind. Trapped between the two of you, he groaned but admitted defeat and followed Tarja to the infirmary. He could have easily left, it’s not like either Tarja or you had the strength to restrain him, but there’s only so long a cat and mouse game can go on before it gets tiring.
“At least in Clive’s case you could maybe leave it to the rest of us?” you propose while she takes another long sip of ale. “I don’t think there’s any chance to convince him, like you said, he’s a stubborn one and he’s willing to put up with a tremendous amount of pain.”
“Tell me about it,” she sighs. “The only time I thought he wouldn’t be able to handle it was when he got his surgery and I don’t blame him. I’d be fine not performing that surgery ever again.”
You nod, staring into the bottom of your tankard, trying not to let your mind wander to that day. You hadn’t been at the Hideaway for long when Clive made the decision to get his brand removed. It would make blending in easier, it would be beneficial for the cause, that’s the arguments he brought up when Tarja tried to dissuade him. The risks of death and infection were too high, according to her, and you couldn’t afford to lose your second leader in the span of a year. Still, stubborn as ever, he managed to convince her and she did it. You’ll never forget the screams that echoed from behind the infirmary’s closed door. You panicked that day, hid in a spot no one would find you and tried your best to steady your breath and stop your tears but you irremediably failed. It took you weeks not to startle awake in the middle of the night, having dreamed of that day yet again.
“Ladies,” a voice with a northern accent catches your attention, a welcome distraction from the terrible memories that resurfaced. Looking up, you see Gav standing there with Clive, both with a tankard in hand. “Would you mind greatly if we were to take a seat at your humble table?”
You and Tarja exchange a look of confusion and amusement in equal measure. “Did you hit your head?” Tarja asks, and you can tell that if the answer is yes, she just might flip the table.
“He’s had a lesson with Harpocrates,” Clive explains before taking a seat on the stool opposite yours.
“I’m getting good at sounding like a proper fucker, aren’t I?” Gav asks, taking a seat as well. “In no time I’ll become a poet, just you wait.”
“Good luck with that,” Clive says, hiding his amused smile by drinking. Your heart shouldn’t flutter like that at the sight. Granted, it’s a fairly rare occurrence but it doesn’t justify that reaction. You wouldn’t get hung up on it if it wasn’t a recurring issue paired with a growing tendency to stare at him, sometimes even forgetting he can see you and so can everyone else. As if on cue, a sharp pain in your shin diverts your attention from Clive to Tarja who’s looking at you in a way that has you blushing in embarrassment.
“So, what were you talking about?” Gav inquires. You keep your attention focused on Tarja, letting her decide if she wants to share or not. You told her you wouldn’t tell anyone else and you always stay true to your words.
“Just work,” Tarja sighs, “I have a lot of it and I needed to talk about it.”
“Perhaps we should keep an eye out for a second physicker?” Clive offers, leaning forward on the table. “It could help you free more time for yourself and relax.”
“Don’t tell me you, of all people, are venting the merits of taking time to unwind,” she scoffs, “although, I wouldn’t say no to a second pair of hands.”
“I could help,” Gav proposes. You and Clive exchange a knowing look but remain quiet. “When I’m not committed to another mission, that is.”
For the first time all evening, Tarja laughs, loud and bright. “Gav, nothing would please me more than working with you if I was trying to kill my patients, but I’m trying to help them out.”
Gav’s face seems to fall for a second before his usual expression is back on his face. You’d feel bad for him but Tarja unfortunately has a point. He’s a brilliant scout and an able fighter but he lacks the gentleness in touch that a physicker needs. To each their own strengths and weaknesses.
A moment passes in companionable silence, each of you focused on your drinks. Finding someone to help Tarja at the infirmary is easier said than done, you can’t simply go out and recruit physickers, it’s more complicated than that. It would take months perhaps even years to build strong enough trust to welcome someone to the Hideaway. With Hugo Kupka still out there and more enemies than is possible to keep track of, it would be too great a risk. While it’s a good solution in the long term, it does nothing to help in the immediate.
Downing the rest of your tankard in one go for a bit of extra courage, you clear your throat and say, “I could help out.” Instantly, three pairs of eyes zero in on you and you know your cheeks have grown redder judging by the warmth that spreads in them.
“I appreciate the offer, but you’re as squeamish as they get,” Tarja argues and you admittedly understand why she would think that, even though she’s wrong.
She’s the one who found you in your hiding place, shaking and crying from hearing Clive’s agonising screams. She also saw you tear up at the sight of particularly bad cuts. One would inevitably reach the conclusion that you’re squeamish. However, all of those instances had one common factor that made you react as you did: they all involved Clive. Ever since his surgery, you can’t help it, seeing him wounded gets a visceral reaction out of you. You can’t explain that to Tarja though, and certainly not when Clive is sitting opposite of you.
“I used to help at a pleasure house in Twinside,” you explain, piquing the interest of everyone around the table even further. “Small wounds mostly but sometimes clients could get violent and the girls would fetch me to aid them. I can’t use magick, but it’s not needed for most injuries. I can stitch, check for internal injuries, and prepare concoctions.”
“Couldn’t you have said so earlier when I was lamenting to you?” Tarja frowns, leaning closer to you.
“It would have been difficult when you kept cutting me off,” you point out and she huffs. “I’m in charge of the dishes three times a day but the rest of the day I can help out at the infirmary if you’ll have me.”
Tarja takes your hands in hers, gratitude and relief written all over her face. “You’re a lifesaver, truly!” she beams. “Just, try not to pass out at the sight of blood or you’ll add work rather than take some off of me.”
“I’m not that squeamish,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
“Then the problem is solved,” Clive concludes, putting his tankard down. “Don’t overwork yourself either, will you?” It takes you a second to register he’s talking to you, and when you turn towards him your eyes meet, and your heart skips a whole beat.
“I’ll be fine,” you repeat what you said to Tarja. “If she could get it done by herself, it’ll be much easier with two of us and the dishes don’t take that much energy most of the time.”
Clive nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer and the conversation naturally moves onto other subjects. Gav recounts one of his recent encounters with a swarm of vintner wasps near Lostwing in his usual over the top descriptions complete with plenty of sound effects that capture everyone’s attention regardless of if his story is completely accurate or not. More than once you’ve tried to convince him to read stories to the children but he always refuses, finding excuses not to do it. He loves telling stories, and he gets along well with the children, they adore him, so you don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to do it. Still, you stopped pushing, hoping he will do it eventually, but off his own initiative.
A couple of rounds later, Gav has moved on to speaking gibberish through barely contained sobs, the usual sign that he’s had too much to drink and needs to sleep it off. Clive takes it upon himself to put him to bed, quickly followed by Tarja announcing she’s calling it a night. Just like that, you find yourself alone in the hall.
As promised to Maeve, you gather the empty tankards and wash them so they’ll be ready to use again in the morning. There’s something peaceful about nighttime when the hall is lit by candles and the outside by the moon. The whole world seems asleep as if everything has been frozen for a few hours before the hustle and bustle of everyday life and its struggles resumes come sunrise.
Sometimes you find yourself wishing you could live at night instead, even though it would be lonely eventually, it’s always been your favourite part of the day. When you were little, you often got in trouble for staying up past your bedtime, preferring to sit at your window to admire the light of Drake’s Tail in the distance. It glowed in the most beautiful shade of blue that could only be seen at night. To this day, it’s the thing you miss the most from Twinside, and with the Empire taking over the dominion, there’s little chance for you to go back even for just a day.
Unfortunately, you’re not a child with an overflow of energy anymore, so there’s only so long you can stay up in the evening if you want to be functional come morning. You hum Lukhan’s latest piece to yourself as you make sure everything is in its rightful place before calling it a night as well. As you turn around, you notice a silhouette in the corner of your eyes and nearly jump out of your skin before realising it’s only Clive, leaning on the counter.
“Sorry,” he rushes out, straightening his posture, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you brush it off with a wave of your hand, your heart hammering in your chest, “I’ll live. Did you need anything?”
Clive shakes his head, seemingly thinking, but he’s difficult to read at the best of times so you couldn’t begin to hypothesise on what could be on his mind. “Gav is in bed, I was on my way to do the same but seeing as you were still here, I thought I’d check on you.”
“I just finished the dishes,” you say, gesturing towards the tankards laid out to dry behind you. “I was about to go to bed as well.”
There’s a short moment where neither of you speaks up, simply looking at each other and for a split second you wonder if he can somehow see your budding crush written all over your face. You pray to the stars and the moon herself that it’s only your imagination because you’d never live down the embarrassment. Clive might have become a friend of yours, he’s completely and utterly out of reach for many reasons that only make your heart ache.
“I’ll see you on the morrow, then,” he says with finality. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Clive,” you say back, watching him walk away towards his chambers and up the steps. He stops in his tracks, hand on the door handle, and you don’t have enough time to look away before he turns around and your eyes meet for a brief moment before he disappears inside his chambers.
You really need to be more careful when you stare at him.