Lost in Elegy
“Oh you sorry soul, as cold as ice...â€
Aekira hummed quietly to himself, as he pulled a shirt over his freshly re-bandaged chest. Three days, it had been, since he’d awoken from a two week slumber that did little to ease the stabbing pains. It still hurt to breathe, let alone speak or sing, but the scraps of a song he’d written weeks ago, the song for Scero, were stuck firmly in his head.
He spent most of his waking hours issuing thanks. Not just to House Farendaire for nursing him back to health, but to the Twelve that he hadn’t been stabbed in his hands, for if he had been, the rest of that song would never have found its way to paper. Otherwise, he might have gone mad, and not just on the account of an unsatiated muse. Had he been left to think about his assault all day? He shuddered to think about it. He’d much rather write. Paranoia is better left to others.
It was earlier that morning, in fact, when he finally found the rest of the words, though it took several hours to arrange them just right. And after a bath and a redressing of his wounds, Aekira finally found the heart to stand and sing it. Quietly, of course, so that no one heard, but he had to make sure it sounded right…
Of course, an injured man can only stand and sing for so long before his voice gives out. Halfway through a verse, Aekira’s voice cracked, then gave way completely to coughing. His exhausted lungs’d had enough. With a heavy sigh, he sat himself back on the bed, setting the notebook in his lap. Finish it another time, he thought to himself, as he read over the lyrics for the millionth time that day. It’s perfect, he thought. Everything he hoped it’d be, it became. Suddenly, though, there came a realization.
...What do I name it?
Naming a song, after all, is akin to naming a child. The title given to a piece of music is, in many ways, the core of its entire identity. His first thought was to name it for his brother, since he’d written the song with Scero in mind. But “A Song for Scero†sounded... spectacularly bland. “What We Were†had also crossed his mind, a phrase plucked from the chorus, but it seemed too easy. It didn’t roll off the tongue the way a title should. And GODS, the alliteration…
Aekira groaned and faceplanted into his pillow out of annoyance. Bestowing a name upon a song is the first step to defining what it’s meant to be. And though the lyrics were all in place, the music written out, the issue was that Aekira had yet to decide what the song should be in of itself.
A sudden knock on the door kept Aekira from dwelling upon it further. Judiel again, he figured. He shut his book and set it on the night table, responding to the knock with a quiet “Come in.â€
To his immense surprise, Judiel was not the one to enter the room. Nor Aronaux, nor anyone else from the Farendaire estate. “Oh, good, you're awake,†said the fellow from behind the door, a lanky hyurian man with a mess of brown hair atop his head. “Aekira Swyfte, right? Pleasure to meet you!†He started chattering on endlessly as he wandered the room, as if meeting an old friend, though he never quite made eye contact with the Aekira. In fact, the stranger seemed to move so quickly that he could only catch the barest glimpse of his face at all. “I've been meaning for days to come meet you,†he went on, “But you've been resting each time I tried! I thought for a while that Nymeia was conspiring against our meeting, but… Ah, well, that was then, and this is now. How've you been feeling? I trust your recovery has gone smoothly. I DID hear you singing in here, after all. Has anyone told you how lovely your voice is? Regardless! It must mean you’re feeling at least a little better.â€
Overcome by the embarrassment of being heard, Aekira couldn’t find a decent response, so he answered the strange fellow with silence. “Cat got your tongue,†the stranger asked, his back turned to Aekira, sleeves rolled up and a match in hand to light the fireplace. There was a certain familiarity about the way he spoke, though he was certain he’d never met the man. It bothered him to the seventh hell and back, but he couldn't quite place what it was. “That's all right for now,†he continued. “Of course, I'd love to hear how you ended up falling off the city sometime, if you'd be willing to share. I even have some stories about falling out of things myself... Ah, that should do it.â€
Aekira cast a glance over, as he heard the beginnings of a crackling fire. The other hyur closed the grate over the fireplace and stepped back to admire the flames. He eyed the stranger up and down, the first good look he’d gotten, though he remained turned away.
By all means, he should have been more average, for at least from behind, nothing about him seemed particularly impressive. A thin chest connected to a narrow set of shoulders, supporting a head that would have been slightly too large for his body had he not made up for his slenderness with height. Maybe it’ll make sense, he thought, once I see his face.
And then Aekira noted his arms.
Oh my gods.
Suddenly, the bizarre, familiar feeling the stranger gave him made perfect sense. It was the right arm that gave him pause, the left being bare and normal. But the right was covered, etched all over in ink, tattoos taking the shape of the spells out of an arcanist’s tome. Not unlike N’yhl’s, perhaps, but these were kinder, and far more recognizable. After all, he’d seen them a million times before, and even though it had been so long since he’d last laid eyes upon them, Aekira knew immediately who they belonged to.
Two years.
“You know… It just occured to me,†the hyur said, “I should apologize. This must be pretty confusing for you! I haven’t even introduced myself yet.â€
The man went on about his shameful lack of an introduction, but Aekira didn’t hear a word of it. Finally, he turned to face Aekira with a warm smile. The face of the man from the Aetheryte Plaza who snatched him from the sky now stared back at him with a piercing green gaze. He cleared his throat, and bowed his head. “My name is M-!â€
“Scero...?â€
For a moment, the room was void of conversation, as both men processed what one of them had just blurted out.
“...P-pardon,†the stranger asked, eyes gone wide from excitement, or perhaps even fear.
By then, Aekira had already crawled back out of bed, stumbling his way over to the other hyur before near collapsing into an embrace. It became the stranger’s turn for silence, as the younger man struggled not to burst into tears. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,†Aekira choked out, burying his face into his brother’s shoulder. “Gods, Scer, I…â€
As though a dam had been broken within him, two years worth or words unsaid spilled forth from Aekira’s mouth, about their their home, the people they knew, their entire world and how it had changed. How he’d moved back to Thanalan, and the people he’d met since then, the Sols, and Reina, the Farendaires, all these new faces who had come into his life, for better and for worse. He told him about the work he’d found, with Rhyn, how he was finally doing something positive, and how he’d finally started writing again for the first time in an astral era.
And all the while, the man he knew as Scero stayed silent. Aekira didn’t seem to notice his brother’s look of confusion, the way he seemed to sink as he kept talking about every little thing he’d missed.
For the elder hyur, it became too much.
“I don’t remember,†he mumbled, perhaps without even meaning to. Aekira’s recollection of the things Scero had missed came to a sudden halt.
“Huh?â€
“I don’t remember,†he repeated, louder this time.
“Don’t remember,†the younger hyur asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Don’t remember what?â€
“You.â€
He hastily stepped back, pulling out of Aekira’s embrace. All the hope Aekira had felt, finally seeing his brother with his own eyes, melted away into confusion. “...This is a joke, right,†he asked, hoping it to be some ill-timed ploy. He’d be annoyed about it, sure, but then they’d have a laugh about it, and all would be well... But that’s not like him at all. He could see it on his brother’s face, the way the question seemed to pain him, and the dejected shake of his head.
“...How could you not…†Aekira took a step toward his brother. His hands began to tremble. Dammit, get a hold of yourself. “You knew my name, when you came in…â€
“Because Judiel told it to me,†he admitted. “If she hadn’t… I… I wouldn’t have known.â€
“And the Aetheryte Plaza,†he then asked.
“It was a coincidence, I think… what else was I supposed to do, you would have died.â€
“But… this has got to be a mistake,†he insisted. “We… We’re brothers, how could you not remember? We grew up together, we travelled together… We met up in Ul’dah, remember? It had been years, we were so happy…â€
“I… I don’t doubt you… I believe you, even, but...â€
â€What about our parents,†he asked. “Or Fer? You don’t remember them?â€
Once again, he simply shook his head.
The younger hyur shook his head right back. “...No… no this is wrong. Just… give me anything. There has to be something you remember.†Aekira grabbed his elder brother by the wrist, watching him with pleading eyes. “Please, Scer… something. ANYTHING.â€
But there was nothing the elder Swyfte could think of. “...I’m sorry,†he choked, “I…†He trailed off, leaving the room quiet, save the burning of firewood.
Aekira took in a deep, stinging breath, trying to steady himself. But he couldn’t help but wonder what horrible thing happened that stripped Scero of his memories. He became tense. Another deep breath.
This can’t be happening.
â€It’s… it’s fine,†he eventually said, breaking the silence that near consumed them. “...We’ll figure out a way to set your head straight. I don’t know how, but… we’ll get through it, Scer, we always-!â€
“Hiro,†his brother interrupted, still turned away. “Please,†he muttered, he seemed almost angry. “My name is Hiro.â€
The silence returned, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry,†Hiro uttered, before hastily making an exit, leaving Aekira in his chambers alone.
The last of his energy finally left him, and Aekira fell to his knees. He made no effort to pick himself up. After all, what is one to do when all the hope he carried for the last two years crumbles into dust?
Why, when a man is hopeless, he writes about it.
After a moment, Aekira crawled toward the nighttable, and reached for his notebook. Naming a song, after all, is akin to naming a child. Bestowing a name upon a song is the first step to defining what it’s meant to be. The issue, until then, was that Aekira hadn’t decided what the song was meant to be. But now he had a few ideas. After a thoughtful pause, he picked up his pen, and scrawled out a title at the top of the page.
Elegy.
For a song for a brother who didn’t seem to recognize himself, the title felt like a perfect fit. So perfect it almost pained him to write down. With a heavy sigh, Aekira closed the book and set it aside. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead upon them, feeling no more need to stave off any tears. After such an ordeal, it was deserved, though he wasn’t really sure if he cried out of stress or mourning. An elegy, after all, is a song for the dead.
He could only hope that his brother still lived on.
“Oh you sorry soul, as cold as ice...â€
Aekira hummed quietly to himself, as he pulled a shirt over his freshly re-bandaged chest. Three days, it had been, since he’d awoken from a two week slumber that did little to ease the stabbing pains. It still hurt to breathe, let alone speak or sing, but the scraps of a song he’d written weeks ago, the song for Scero, were stuck firmly in his head.
He spent most of his waking hours issuing thanks. Not just to House Farendaire for nursing him back to health, but to the Twelve that he hadn’t been stabbed in his hands, for if he had been, the rest of that song would never have found its way to paper. Otherwise, he might have gone mad, and not just on the account of an unsatiated muse. Had he been left to think about his assault all day? He shuddered to think about it. He’d much rather write. Paranoia is better left to others.
It was earlier that morning, in fact, when he finally found the rest of the words, though it took several hours to arrange them just right. And after a bath and a redressing of his wounds, Aekira finally found the heart to stand and sing it. Quietly, of course, so that no one heard, but he had to make sure it sounded right…
Of course, an injured man can only stand and sing for so long before his voice gives out. Halfway through a verse, Aekira’s voice cracked, then gave way completely to coughing. His exhausted lungs’d had enough. With a heavy sigh, he sat himself back on the bed, setting the notebook in his lap. Finish it another time, he thought to himself, as he read over the lyrics for the millionth time that day. It’s perfect, he thought. Everything he hoped it’d be, it became. Suddenly, though, there came a realization.
...What do I name it?
Naming a song, after all, is akin to naming a child. The title given to a piece of music is, in many ways, the core of its entire identity. His first thought was to name it for his brother, since he’d written the song with Scero in mind. But “A Song for Scero†sounded... spectacularly bland. “What We Were†had also crossed his mind, a phrase plucked from the chorus, but it seemed too easy. It didn’t roll off the tongue the way a title should. And GODS, the alliteration…
Aekira groaned and faceplanted into his pillow out of annoyance. Bestowing a name upon a song is the first step to defining what it’s meant to be. And though the lyrics were all in place, the music written out, the issue was that Aekira had yet to decide what the song should be in of itself.
A sudden knock on the door kept Aekira from dwelling upon it further. Judiel again, he figured. He shut his book and set it on the night table, responding to the knock with a quiet “Come in.â€
To his immense surprise, Judiel was not the one to enter the room. Nor Aronaux, nor anyone else from the Farendaire estate. “Oh, good, you're awake,†said the fellow from behind the door, a lanky hyurian man with a mess of brown hair atop his head. “Aekira Swyfte, right? Pleasure to meet you!†He started chattering on endlessly as he wandered the room, as if meeting an old friend, though he never quite made eye contact with the Aekira. In fact, the stranger seemed to move so quickly that he could only catch the barest glimpse of his face at all. “I've been meaning for days to come meet you,†he went on, “But you've been resting each time I tried! I thought for a while that Nymeia was conspiring against our meeting, but… Ah, well, that was then, and this is now. How've you been feeling? I trust your recovery has gone smoothly. I DID hear you singing in here, after all. Has anyone told you how lovely your voice is? Regardless! It must mean you’re feeling at least a little better.â€
Overcome by the embarrassment of being heard, Aekira couldn’t find a decent response, so he answered the strange fellow with silence. “Cat got your tongue,†the stranger asked, his back turned to Aekira, sleeves rolled up and a match in hand to light the fireplace. There was a certain familiarity about the way he spoke, though he was certain he’d never met the man. It bothered him to the seventh hell and back, but he couldn't quite place what it was. “That's all right for now,†he continued. “Of course, I'd love to hear how you ended up falling off the city sometime, if you'd be willing to share. I even have some stories about falling out of things myself... Ah, that should do it.â€
Aekira cast a glance over, as he heard the beginnings of a crackling fire. The other hyur closed the grate over the fireplace and stepped back to admire the flames. He eyed the stranger up and down, the first good look he’d gotten, though he remained turned away.
By all means, he should have been more average, for at least from behind, nothing about him seemed particularly impressive. A thin chest connected to a narrow set of shoulders, supporting a head that would have been slightly too large for his body had he not made up for his slenderness with height. Maybe it’ll make sense, he thought, once I see his face.
And then Aekira noted his arms.
Oh my gods.
Suddenly, the bizarre, familiar feeling the stranger gave him made perfect sense. It was the right arm that gave him pause, the left being bare and normal. But the right was covered, etched all over in ink, tattoos taking the shape of the spells out of an arcanist’s tome. Not unlike N’yhl’s, perhaps, but these were kinder, and far more recognizable. After all, he’d seen them a million times before, and even though it had been so long since he’d last laid eyes upon them, Aekira knew immediately who they belonged to.
Two years.
“You know… It just occured to me,†the hyur said, “I should apologize. This must be pretty confusing for you! I haven’t even introduced myself yet.â€
The man went on about his shameful lack of an introduction, but Aekira didn’t hear a word of it. Finally, he turned to face Aekira with a warm smile. The face of the man from the Aetheryte Plaza who snatched him from the sky now stared back at him with a piercing green gaze. He cleared his throat, and bowed his head. “My name is M-!â€
“Scero...?â€
For a moment, the room was void of conversation, as both men processed what one of them had just blurted out.
“...P-pardon,†the stranger asked, eyes gone wide from excitement, or perhaps even fear.
By then, Aekira had already crawled back out of bed, stumbling his way over to the other hyur before near collapsing into an embrace. It became the stranger’s turn for silence, as the younger man struggled not to burst into tears. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,†Aekira choked out, burying his face into his brother’s shoulder. “Gods, Scer, I…â€
As though a dam had been broken within him, two years worth or words unsaid spilled forth from Aekira’s mouth, about their their home, the people they knew, their entire world and how it had changed. How he’d moved back to Thanalan, and the people he’d met since then, the Sols, and Reina, the Farendaires, all these new faces who had come into his life, for better and for worse. He told him about the work he’d found, with Rhyn, how he was finally doing something positive, and how he’d finally started writing again for the first time in an astral era.
And all the while, the man he knew as Scero stayed silent. Aekira didn’t seem to notice his brother’s look of confusion, the way he seemed to sink as he kept talking about every little thing he’d missed.
For the elder hyur, it became too much.
“I don’t remember,†he mumbled, perhaps without even meaning to. Aekira’s recollection of the things Scero had missed came to a sudden halt.
“Huh?â€
“I don’t remember,†he repeated, louder this time.
“Don’t remember,†the younger hyur asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Don’t remember what?â€
“You.â€
He hastily stepped back, pulling out of Aekira’s embrace. All the hope Aekira had felt, finally seeing his brother with his own eyes, melted away into confusion. “...This is a joke, right,†he asked, hoping it to be some ill-timed ploy. He’d be annoyed about it, sure, but then they’d have a laugh about it, and all would be well... But that’s not like him at all. He could see it on his brother’s face, the way the question seemed to pain him, and the dejected shake of his head.
“...How could you not…†Aekira took a step toward his brother. His hands began to tremble. Dammit, get a hold of yourself. “You knew my name, when you came in…â€
“Because Judiel told it to me,†he admitted. “If she hadn’t… I… I wouldn’t have known.â€
“And the Aetheryte Plaza,†he then asked.
“It was a coincidence, I think… what else was I supposed to do, you would have died.â€
“But… this has got to be a mistake,†he insisted. “We… We’re brothers, how could you not remember? We grew up together, we travelled together… We met up in Ul’dah, remember? It had been years, we were so happy…â€
“I… I don’t doubt you… I believe you, even, but...â€
â€What about our parents,†he asked. “Or Fer? You don’t remember them?â€
Once again, he simply shook his head.
The younger hyur shook his head right back. “...No… no this is wrong. Just… give me anything. There has to be something you remember.†Aekira grabbed his elder brother by the wrist, watching him with pleading eyes. “Please, Scer… something. ANYTHING.â€
But there was nothing the elder Swyfte could think of. “...I’m sorry,†he choked, “I…†He trailed off, leaving the room quiet, save the burning of firewood.
Aekira took in a deep, stinging breath, trying to steady himself. But he couldn’t help but wonder what horrible thing happened that stripped Scero of his memories. He became tense. Another deep breath.
This can’t be happening.
â€It’s… it’s fine,†he eventually said, breaking the silence that near consumed them. “...We’ll figure out a way to set your head straight. I don’t know how, but… we’ll get through it, Scer, we always-!â€
“Hiro,†his brother interrupted, still turned away. “Please,†he muttered, he seemed almost angry. “My name is Hiro.â€
The silence returned, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry,†Hiro uttered, before hastily making an exit, leaving Aekira in his chambers alone.
The last of his energy finally left him, and Aekira fell to his knees. He made no effort to pick himself up. After all, what is one to do when all the hope he carried for the last two years crumbles into dust?
Why, when a man is hopeless, he writes about it.
After a moment, Aekira crawled toward the nighttable, and reached for his notebook. Naming a song, after all, is akin to naming a child. Bestowing a name upon a song is the first step to defining what it’s meant to be. The issue, until then, was that Aekira hadn’t decided what the song was meant to be. But now he had a few ideas. After a thoughtful pause, he picked up his pen, and scrawled out a title at the top of the page.
Elegy.
For a song for a brother who didn’t seem to recognize himself, the title felt like a perfect fit. So perfect it almost pained him to write down. With a heavy sigh, Aekira closed the book and set it aside. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead upon them, feeling no more need to stave off any tears. After such an ordeal, it was deserved, though he wasn’t really sure if he cried out of stress or mourning. An elegy, after all, is a song for the dead.
He could only hope that his brother still lived on.