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“Gods– Gods, Urianger– I–”
Thancred moaned. He rocked his hips up against Urianger’s cock, who rubbed against him in turn. Urianger’s hands clutched at the sheets on either side of Thancred’s head. The Elezen bit his lip, and stifled an aching groan. If only Thancred felt like wrenching free of the rope that kept his arms laced behind his back. If only– but he felt no such desire, not when Urianger so intently rutted against his member, flushed hot with arousal.
As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around Urianger’s neck and pull him close, the red haze of encroaching orgasm kept him docile. Not a thought in his head aside from the need to buck his hips against Urianger as though his life depended on it.
Urianger’s brows pinched together. Mouth agape, he let slip a moan of his own. Long and low. Thancred squeezed his eyes shut. The very sight of Urianger's ecstatic expression sent a hot pang up his shaft and a spill of precum out of his tip. “Urianger, I– I can’t hold back–”
“Go,” Urianger gasped out, and it was all the instruction Thancred needed to hear. No more resisting his own primal needs. His hips tensed. A shiver shot through him and he spasmed. His whine graduated to a groan of relief– and cum leaked from his slit as Urianger humped against him still. First a thick trickle down his shaft, and then a spurt onto his own abdomen. His bones felt feather light for that brief, orgasmic instant before a heavy warmth weighed him down and he collapsed wholly beneath Urianger.
Just in time for the Elezen to rut against him once, twice more– and tense all the same as he came with a spatter onto Thancred’s stomach, a wayward spurt against his breast. Urianger’s fingers gripped the covers tight; his face contorted with bliss, and then he leaned his weight back on Thancred’s pelvis to sit and pump his own shaft a few more times before he settled, breathing heavily.
His head spun with delight. Neither moved. With starving gasps they tried to catch their breath. Then Urianger’s eyes opened, half-lidded but satisfied. His gaze flittered to Thancred’s stomach, deterred only when Thancred groaned out, “No.”
Leave it, was his unspoken request. Let us have this moment.
Gladly, Urianger obliged. He collapsed at Thancred’s side, tilted his head inward with his clean hand, and leaned in for a kiss. They locked lips; just long enough to have to separate again, too breathless to continue.
“What I would give to feel like that every waking moment,” Thancred murmured.
“‘Tis the banality of life that imbueth these rare few moments with their hallmark euphoria,” Urianger replied, his every word belated, spoken between his panting; too busy thinking even whilst he relished in his post-orgasmic bliss. “A shame, that even bodily pleasure requireth moderation…”
“Enough from you,” Thancred intervened. “Or I’ll have to forgo moderation to fuck the very words from your mouth.”
Urianger smiled, eyes still shut.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you,” Thancred scoffed.
Urianger stroked Thancred’s cheekbone with his thumb. They laid, idle and spent, both in silent agreement that it was not yet time to get up. Only when the cum had dried upon Thancred’s stomach did Urianger move to fetch the cloth on the nightstand, perfectly clean when he first touched it, and moist with watery aether by the time he pressed it to Thancred’s breast to wipe off the immediate evidence of their debauchery.
His eyes wandered from breast to bicep. Urianger paused just long enough to brush his fingers against Thancred's bindings– and to make sure they hadn’t grown uncomfortably tight. As though his captive wouldn’t have said something on his own.
“A tale of a sailor who had set upon the dread Leviathan and narrowly escaped with his life…” Urianger trailed off; had Thancred not known better, not known that he was about to elaborate on this sudden and apparently irrelevant thought, he would have perhaps wondered if Urianger had been the victim of a sudden ailment. “I have recalled this book many a time of late. ‘Twas within her pages I first learned the skills now harnessed for erotic use. I daresay that, for a tale of supposed fiction, the description of how the protagonist managed the rigging of his ship strayed well into excess. So descript, in fact, that I had taken it upon myself for curiosity’s sake to heed its instructions and tie its knots for mine own amusement.”
Urianger spoke, and Thancred listened. The nostalgia that brightened his face was the only motivation Thancred needed to lay quiet and eat up every word. Urianger wiped off his stomach, lost in reverie all the while. “A hobby, while fleeting in the grand scheme of youth, that persisted long enough for Moenbryda to take heed of it. ‘Twas she who located another book– scribed for education’s sake and not merely a fictional tale– and learned a handful of mariner’s ties that she might bestow said knowledge upon me.”
It pleased Thancred to hear her name from Urianger’s lips with nary a flinch of guilt upon his brow. That her memory could bring him joy… Urianger deserved it. “With all the hobbies you’ve reminisced about before,” Thancred said, “one would think the Studium a far less demanding taskmaster than I have been led to believe.”
“Nay, thou art not misled in such beliefs. Though as a student I had little issue in maintaining the elite standards demanded by the Studium and her teachers… I am fortunate in that regard. That I had the ability to comprehend such an education with such ease.” He bit back a quiet laugh. “–and, as thou knowest, I had little to do beyond mine education. Moenbryda, my sole and most beloved confidante; were it not for she, I would have been content on my lonesome, embarking on these quests of curiosity alone, unaware of camaraderie’s benefits.”
“‘Twas for education’s sake that I learned to tie my first knot,” Thancred remarked as Urianger finished his task and set the cloth aside once more. “Oftentimes I forget that my understanding of education is very much different from your own– or any other pupil of the Studium, really.”
Urianger settled back down into the bed. Thancred inched closer, enough of a sign that Urianger knew to embrace his bound form. “On the matter of curiosity,” Urianger replied, “I have wondered some few times of what the education of a Sharlayan spy doth consist.”
“And you never thought to ask?”
“‘Tis a subject that never arose naturally in conversation,” Urianger said, “The moment presenteth itself only now.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right. It isn’t as though I’m going anywhere.” Thancred smiled. He flexed his bound hands and rolled his shoulders as though he were well and truly trapped– and not full capable of releasing himself. “So if there ever was an ideal moment, here you have it. Though I did start my training at a later age than the norm… and arrived lacking even the barest of scholarly fundamentals. I wouldn't consider my circumstances wholly typical of a spy-in-training.”
Urianger ran delicate fingers through his feathered hair. Soothing enough that Thancred closed his eyes as he continued. “While I believe the Studium has a variety of educators, my studies were more akin to Y’shtola’s. As she was under the tutelage of Master Matoya, so was I beneath the tutelage of my mentor– a master of his craft. ‘Twas he who taught me to refine my ability with the blade and how to use the shadows to my advantage.”
“When didst thou begin thy lessons in the arts of war?”
“Oh, practically the instant I got off the boat,” Thancred replied, nonchalantly. Urianger hummed with uncertainty. “Of course there was a bit of a gap while they caught me up to speed in the pesky matters of basic literacy and speechcraft. But espionage is a complex profession. Louisoix had his expectations of me– and I intended to meet them, if not surpass them entirely. Not a traditional education by any means… but Gods, was it satisfying. Harrowing at times, but to this day I cannot see myself having been taught as the likes of you and G’raha and Alisaie and Alphinaud were taught.”
“Harrowing?” Urianger prompted. A brief answer that told Thancred he was too busy chewing on this information to fully phrase his inquiries.
“Well, one doesn’t truly learn such a perilous craft without a few bumps and bruises. My mentor’s lessons were very much… a hands-on experience. Theory won’t save your life if you’ve got your back against the wall, cornered by the enemy. There are consequences to every failure– fortunately, the consequences of failing a lesson are not as fatal as the consequences of failure on the field, as I very much knew from the beginning.”
He paused to let Urianger comment, if he so wanted. The Elezen merely continued to ruffle through his hair and run his hand up and down the length of Thancred’s back. “If anything, I didn’t face enough consequences. Where my mentor’s other pupils would catch me once– they would be hard pressed to do so again. You do not survive by making the same mistake twice. And if there is one thing I believe with utmost earnesty that I can do– it is survive. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunate in what sense?”
He realized immediately how self-deprecating it must have sounded. Thancred shook his head. “Unfortunate for my mentor’s purposes, I mean. The consequences of failure are very much an essential aspect of his teachings. His lessons in interrogation resistance for instance– failed initially to account for the fact that in order to be interrogated, one must first be caught. ”
“I…” Urianger’s brow furrowed. Thancred could not see it, but he could tell by the tone of Urianger’s voice alone. “I heard correctly, yes? Interrogation resistance? I fail to envision how such training would be undergone beyond theory, which thou hast declared irrelevant to the education of a spy…”
“It wasn’t the sort of experience I would care to repeat, if that’s what you’re asking. Aye, ‘twas a most miserable time– a necessary evil, I suppose, given what would happen in reality.” Thancred recalled it all with a note of nostalgia; he shifted slightly to better relieve the pressure in his bound arms and lean further against Urianger’s chest. “At the very least that training was a one time event… a week of controlled agony to steel myself should the worst come to pass being a small price to pay.”
Urianger said nothing in response. Unnerved, he supposed, by the fact that somewhere deep within the Sharlayan he knew and loved was a torture chamber constructed purely for the education of its spies. There was a reason most people didn’t know. Nonetheless, Thancred continued– his lips perhaps a little looser than they would have been were he not so deeply at ease in the other’s arms. “They intend for it all to be an organic sort of simulation. Wherein the trainee is deposited in the field and given the task of outwitting the more experienced agents who seek to incapacitate them. Unfortunately, as I said, no one informed me that I was meant to be caught.” He smiled, closed his eyes, and subconsciously tilted his head to bare his Archon’s marks. “There’s a reason I was chosen above my peers to receive my markings,” Thancred added, proudly.
“Forgive me… my curiosities are discourteous to indulge, but thou hast implied that thy mentor subjected thee to…”
“I was getting there, you impatient fiend,” Thancred teased, though Urianger did not respond. “But yes– they had no choice but to approach me directly after the fact. ‘Twas a curious conversation, that. ‘It is mandated that you must be subject to horrors untold for a week, and since you evaded us in the field, you must needs come directly with us’.” He laughed under his breath.
And still, Urianger did not find it amusing. “Not even a morbid chortle?” Thancred prompted. He glanced up to a most sullen expression.
“Mine imaginings are that of a most barbaric form of education,” Urianger replied, “Though I find it exceedingly difficult to consider such a thing ‘education’ whatsoever. Correct me if I am mistaken…”
“I doubt it. I’m not speaking in metaphor, after all.” To his chagrin, Urianger’s embrace loosened when all he wanted was to continue relishing in his firm grip. Thancred inched himself closer, and gave Urianger’s neck a soft, chaste kiss of reassurance. “I needn’t continue if it distresses you so.”
Urianger shook his head. “Not once have I heard of such happenings. Shocking though it may be… do continue.” And yet he hesitated in that last part. It gave the impression of Thancred’s childhood being a sort of forbidden knowledge, desirable and yet detestable at the same time. Such was the life of a former street urchin– a book filled to the brim with colorful stories of all sorts that were fascinating to behold, yet left a sour taste in the mouths of the listeners. And his own mouth too, Thancred supposed. But he had opened this Pandora's box of his own volition. Urianger had done nothing wrong to warrant having it snapped shut in his face.
“If it brings you any solace, the arbiters of my training were quite polite ‘til we left the public eye. Or tried to be, in any case– they offered to pay for any meal of my choosing before we left, but it had the same air about it as a man offered his final meal before execution. And before you ask, I don’t recall what it was I asked for.”
His every attempt at lightening the mood met with deadpan silence. It unnerved him. Would it be better to lie? To abandon the conversation? Somehow, he didn’t think so. Not that he could lie easily to Urianger anymore, anyway. With a grunt, Thancred inched up into a sitting position, backboard of the bed used as leverage. Urianger sat up, rigid and eager to unbind him, deterred only by the way Thancred leaned back.
He stared at Urianger in silence, waited for the Elezen to tell him not to continue. He did not anticipate Urianger to say, “If thou art not comfortable…”
“It’s moreso your comfort that concerns me.”
Urianger shook his head. “I am listening.”
Thancred eyed Urianger, uncertain, then relented with a shrug. “‘’Tis naught more than the fodder for a captivating tale. I was no older than– what, fifteen summers?” His brow furrowed as he did the mental math. “Over half a lifetime ago. Gods, I’m old.” He shook his head free of the tangent, then continued: “As I said, they were quite polite. ‘Til we arrived at our destination… then I found myself flat on my back faster than I could blink. I had assumed they would have at least given me a moment to breathe after they closed the door, though I suspect they knew I would have fought back given the chance.” Thancred huffed to himself, amused, recalling their express instructions: you are not to resist. They will capture you, and you will not resist in the slightest.
Yes, they had definitely known.
“I remember quite distinctly bracing myself for a beating. That is what comes to mind when one thinks ‘torture’, as I’m sure you can attest to at this very moment.” Thancred forced himself to look Urianger in the eye to confirm. Urianger offered a slow, solemn nod, and Thancred decided he didn’t want to keep watching to see if he truly saw flickers of pity in his golden gaze, or whether he was seeing things beyond the distant, guarded expression he usually kept when he was uncertain of what to think.
The beatings were the easiest to stomach, he almost added, fingers flinching into loose fists at his back. Thancred’s lips twitched into a semblance of a reassuring smile. “I didn’t know quite what to make of it, truth be told. They threw me in a room, unbound, and closed the door. Not a hair on my head harmed aside from a bruise or two.”
It was awful.
And suddenly he regretted bringing up this tale at all. Pale eyes downcast, he breathed deep, every effort made to try and find the words to explain how an empty room could possibly be worse than the physical wounds. “The door never opened. Not for food nor water. I thought that their intentions were to perhaps starve me out…”
The starvation was nothing to me.
But it felt easier to convey how it hurt. At least that came with physical discomfort. A gnawing pain and dryness of throat. Still, he’d known they wouldn’t let him waste away. There was no point in feeding him beforehand if they were simply going to let him expire. No, what birthed the aching sense of dread was…
“A cell?” Urianger asked, trying to understand the vagueries.
“No furnishings,” Thancred admitted. “No light.” He confessed before he could stop himself. “Darkness had never truly bothered me before. That was the first time in my life I could earnestly say I wasn’t terribly fond of it.”
Urianger didn’t need to know the details. How his heart raced unevenly after a while. How he tried the locked door more often than he cared to admit, tried to break the lock after Gods know how long they left him in there. The way he felt his way to the corner of the room, curled up, and tried so hard to sleep– only for a piercing wail to wake him every time he made an effort to lay down.
His confidence that he could endure whatever they threw at him, shattered in a matter of some few suns. Thancred twisted his wrists in their bindings– partially wondering if the imprint of his own teeth was still visible on the side of his hand after all these years. Where he’d bitten down on his own flesh in the darkness as a reminder that he was still alive.
“I almost felt as though I was among old friends when they came back for me,” Thancred said. He took it upon himself to lean forward into Urianger again, pressing his cheek against the Elezen’s shoulder. Lengthsome arms wrapped around him in a half-embrace, and gentle hands rubbed the small of his back soothingly. “For all of a few minutes ‘til they began those beatings I had come to forget about. But– for all my shortcomings, I did not breathe a single word of the information they were pressing me for. Thinking back on it, I can’t help but wonder whether they were even expecting me to yield so quickly. I assure you, they were quite gentle in their discipline at first.” He buried his face in Urianger’s chest and sighed. “Stubbornness can be a virtue depending on the circumstance. They were hard pressed to obtain more information than my own name, let alone anything of critical significance.”
All he had to do was blurt out the brief but falsified story they had given him beforehand. Of a mission given to him in secret by the Sharlayan forum itself. But every time he came close, every time lips parted to fathom, even momentarily, yielding his precious intelligence–
Master Louisoix did not bring you back to Sharlayan for you to fail him now.
Through the tears and the panic and the screams, he held fast to that visage. The idea that once he’d endured this trial, he could hold his head high as his mentor relayed his praises to the man who had sponsored him on a whim. Every bruise would be a badge of honor; just as he had evaded the agents meant to usher him into this training in the field, he would resurface knowing that he was well prepared for any consequences that might meet him when he graduated from simulation to reality.
“Child that I was, I did not realize that the lesson was not ‘how to endure pain’,” Thancred said at last. “Were it only something so simple.”
“Then what was this dire lesson in maturity?” Urianger asked, a low murmur, clear insincerity in his voice. Dare he say it– a little bitter. Thancred wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the senseless violence he clearly envisioned it to be. That it was a lesson well learned. And yet…
When he spoke, there was something marginally bitter and bemused in his own tone, as though Urianger’s unspoken thoughts were contagious. “That every man has their breaking point. That in the hands of those sufficiently motivated to inflict pain… your wellspring of endurance will run dry. And the drought will strike sooner than you might think.”
The silence was deafening.
"I can tell you're curious still," Thancred said. Urianger frowned, and whilst they made uncomfortable eye contact, he could not help but note the way Urianger's hands fidgeted around his ropework. Wanting to undo the knots so badly, wracked by a guilt Thancred could not fully comprehend. Part of him wanted to refrain from the end of his tale, but… well, he couldn't deny Urianger the truth, either. "You have that look in your eyes that you get when you have a hankering to know more."
Urianger did not reply.
"You want to know what broke me," Thancred said, and the way Urianger's gaze flittered to the side was all he needed for an answer. "It was an age and a half ago, Urianger. It doesn't bother me. Truly."
"Very well," Urianger said, quietly.
"It was my mentor," Thancred began, and despite the way his words began strong, they slowly tapered into something quieter as he went along. "They brought my mentor before me. 'Twas then I was given an ultimatum: I relinquished the information they wanted, else my mentor would be the one to pay the price."
Urianger began to untie him, and for once, Thancred felt it prudent to let him have his way. Gods, he'd gone and ruined the mood. Guiltily, he pulled his arms out from behind his back and cupped Urianger's cheeks as he continued as though possessed. Knowing full well the details would distress Urianger, and yet…
He couldn't seem to stop himself. Memories from a long time past dredged up, painfully clear. Well over a dozen years ago. Why did he still remember the crunch of bone?
"They began with his fingernails. Then took a hammer to his fingers. They'd gone through three of them when I told them I would yield. Funny how I feared he would never be able to pick a lock or use his hand properly again," he said, a little distantly, "Of course it was all a glamour. They would never inflict lasting harm upon him, or any of his pupils. Perhaps if I'd been thinking more clearly I would have seen through the illusion."
He hadn’t even thought to lie. Every ilm of precious information regurgitated at lightning speed. If it had earnestly been a matter of life and death– if the men training him had been actual agents of some malevolent force–
Thancred knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. Deep-seated flashes of that very instant repeated themselves behind pale eyes. It had felt so real in the heat of the moment. He did not know the familiar faces that mutilated his mentor. Nor could he recognize in the slightest his colleagues who held him back in a headlock. The very same men and women he’d trained alongside who, like his mentor, were simply acting upon a stage for the benefit of his continued education. And still he’d blurted everything he knew as though they were strangers, just so that he could wail: Please! I’ve been truthful! Stop! Stop! I’ve told you everything! Stop hurting him!
Over and over again. Even after they had released him from their iron grip. Begging and pleading until his mentor crossed from one room to the next to pick him up off the ground and assure him it was finished. Thancred could barely see through the fat tears, barely breathe between his gasping sobs, and through it all– checked his mentor’s unblemished hand before he relented to the unusual need to latch on to his mentor for dear life.
Had it been real, they would have killed us both. Our lives hinging solely on the information I had to give…
A reality his mentor was surely aware of. So why, Thancred wondered, did his mentor hold him so close and tell him he’d done exceptionally well? Even back then it had felt like a bold faced lie. Something spoken out of pity to an inconsolable young man–
“–a boy,” Urianger murmured, aghast, so sudden that Thancred froze, wondering if his comrade had read his mind. “Thou hadst been but a boy, subject to brutality beyond measure. And for what gain…?”
“It’s merely the reality of my profession,” Thancred replied. He offered a gentle kiss against Urianger’s lips, a gesture of comfort, then parted to sink down into the bedsheets. Hands clasped at his abdomen, he looked to the ceiling– then parted them just long enough to pat the sheets beside him so that Urianger might know to lie down, as well. “A rite of passage, if you would. Every Sharlayan spy has endured it. Though I can’t quite say in the rare few moments of my life it was relevant that it helped much.”
Urianger did not immediately heed his gesture. The Elezen pressed his knuckles to his mouth in thought. “And Master Louisoix himself was fully cognizant of this rite? The Sharlayan Forum…?”
“Master Louisoix, aye. I imagine the Forum as well. I’m doubtful they would take too kindly to such training regiments were they administered without proper oversight or guidance.” Thancred closed his eyes. Part of him wished he’d kept this his dirty little secret; yet another part, conflicted as it was, felt a peculiar sense of relief between the knot of guilt in his gut. They’d gone from a most wonderful night of passion, to this… “Truly, Urianger, it had not been my intention to seek your comfort…”
“I…” Whatever Urianger thought to say, he trailed off and visibly worked to reword it. “Mistake not my words for senseless pity. I merely struggle to comprehend the merit of such trial. Why such a thing wouldst be permitted to begin with…”
“At the bare minimum, I would consider it additional motivation to evade capture at all costs. Though I will say, it was enlightening.” Thancred shifted some to lay in a way that allowed him to watch Urianger, and offer a soothing pat on the thigh. “And rather odd to be told I’ve an exceedingly high tolerance for pain– but far too much empathy for one’s fellow captives.” He huffed with amusement at the recollection.
Too much empathy. Something he never thought he would hear in his youth. Even now he wasn’t sure what to think of that. Was it not normal– and expected of one, even, to have a sense of loyalty toward their comrades? It would have been far more abnormal for him to watch the man who, for all intents and purposes, raised him out of boyhood into maturity, and unflinchingly let his hands be shattered to pieces…
Urianger studied his expression. Brows furrowed with concern that made Thancred want to flush awkwardly and divert his gaze. Thancred waited for him to speak, and when that failed, he coughed and said, “Shall we wash up and go to bed, then?”
He could have sworn Urianger was about to say something else; instead, Urianger blinked himself from his reverie and nodded with visible hesitance. Of course telling him all that would vex him, you fool, Thancred thought to himself as they climbed from the bed. He yanked the sheet laid down atop the rest of their bedclothes and tossed it in a heap to the side as they went. He could not possibly comprehend the rationale. Why would you say any of that–?
They washed in silence. Thancred at the basin, Urianger first to take the shower. Though they usually showered together, Thancred dragged his heels. Every ilm of his face meticulously wiped down to give Urianger the peace and solitude he undoubtedly needed. Thancred lowered the cloth in his hands and looked over his reflection; lovingly he traced over the fading imprints of the binding cord at his wrists and biceps. Calloused fingers dragged across his skin, across the subtle imperfections where scars and time had taken their toll on his body.
He wouldn’t be who he was today without the tough love of his mentor. Those lessons, brutal and fierce– they had given him the skills he needed to survive. It wasn’t terrible. Truly, it wasn’t. Not compared to the streets of Limsa, where the brigands and cutthroats he ran with didn’t care if he died. In Sharlayan he could breathe easy knowing that no matter the lesson, he would not perish. Not with all the effort they had put into getting him his papers, and all the time they put into his meticulous training.
So lost in thought, Thancred did not immediately notice Urianger’s face in the background of the mirror’s reflection. The Elezen peered out from behind the shower curtain and watched him with a solemn frown. “Hm?” Thancred pivoted on his heel and tilted his head to the side in question.
“Wilt thou not be joining me?”
Sometimes it was the smallest things that took him aback. Thancred blinked, then gave a soft smile– though perhaps a little forced. “If you insist.”
He slipped into the shower, and gladly took his place beneath the warm rain of water. Dutifully, Thancred took a bar of soap from its perch and lathered it between his hands to run across Urianger’s chest. Such soft skin, he noted– so very different from Thancred’s own.
A wordless ritual carried out with long familiarity, albeit a little more sullenly than usual. He would wash Urianger, and then Urianger would wash him in turn. That was simply how it went. Until Thancred began to run his hands across Urianger’s shoulders, when at last his comrade blurted: “Wouldst thou see fit to instruct Ryne in the ways of the rogue precisely as thou hadst been taught?”
“What… Ryne?” Thancred could only fathom what sort of mental gymnastics Urianger had done to suddenly arrive at such a question. “I did instruct her as I was taught. What are you on about?”
“I doubt thee not; in the ways of the blade, she mimicked thee to a degree most impressively meticulous. But I speak not of those base skills.” Urianger turned to stop him, stilling his hands by taking them between his own. “Thou didst not instruct her in every area of thine expertise. Why?”
“I taught her what was necessary. Nothing more, nothing less.” Thancred fought the urge to pull away. Barely he tolerated the proximity, the heat of Urianger’s gaze far more intense than he could handle– though technically, nothing had changed. It was the same golden stare as before. Solemn and piercing.
“Again I ask: why?”
“We did not have the luxury I had growing up, Urianger. Teaching my craft is much simpler when one can simply settle for a time.”
“Then thou wouldst have taught her everything, had it been within thy means to retreat to stable environs?”
“I suppose I could have taught her more,” Thancred confessed with a shrug.
“I find it difficult to discern whether or not thou evadest my point intentionally or otherwise,” Urianger replied, voice stern in the mildest of ways.
“I know what you’re fishing for. You want to know if I would put her through interrogation training.” He forced himself to glance up, to meet Urianger’s gaze, in the hopes that perhaps he was wrong. That Urianger’s brows would arch and he would shake his head. No such luck. “My answer being that were it necessary, then…”
Why couldn’t he say it? If it were necessary, I would have. I would have watched her wail and beaten her until her face was mottled with bruises. If it were necessary, then so be it– a lesser of two evils, if it keeps her safe…
But he knew from experience. It helped only marginally– if that. Everything he learned came afterward. When they assessed his reaction, dissected his every choice and explained to him what he could have done to better preserve himself. Though would it have truly sunken in if he hadn’t endured it firsthand?
It sat like a stone in his stomach. To play at Urianger’s game and envision himself in the place of his mentor, Ryne in place of himself. Thancred couldn’t quite put his finger on it; what felt so wrong about a parallel that Urianger clearly thought obvious. He’d pushed her hard– far harder than anyone her age ought to have been pushed. But even if the circumstances had been different…
He wondered if the discomfort stemmed from that. The fact that it would not have crossed his mind in a thousand years to expose her to such pain to numb her to its sting. Yet it had crossed his mentor’s mind– and his mentor had carried it out without an inkling of hesitation.
Yet even as he forced himself deeper down this rabbit hole of pondering– even as he tried his damndest to envision himself in some world where he had to invoke such training– what in the seven hells would it tell him about Ryne that he didn’t already know?
Ryne, who wordlessly and inexplicably kept the door to her room at the Bookman’s Shelves open as she slept? Ryne, with her hands as calloused and firm as a practiced swordswoman before she had the chance to be a woman grown? Who would fracture a bone and not breathe a word until it ached so painfully that she physically could not continue?
He knew damn well what would come of such training. She would grit her teeth and choke back her screams and weep until her tears dried up. But she would not give in. Not until someone she loved came before her and played the role of his tortured mentor.
Thancred frowned, pulled his hand free, and grabbed for the soap bar that he might start to wash himself. He hadn’t the chance to pull his half-lathered hand away from the bar before Urianger pried it from his grip. “I believe such is my rightful task,” he murmured. Thancred made no effort to argue; numbly he stood, pale eyes downcast. So deep in thought– and yet nothing coherent crossed his mind.
“I fear my curiosities may have overstepped thy boundaries,” Urianger added after a while. “I offer mine apologies.”
It was an apology that served no purpose but to invoke Thancred’s ire. He refused to reflect it visibly in his face, but deep within his gut, he felt that pang of frustration. What need did he have to apologize for a simple question? A question that Thancred brought upon himself, no less?
“All that they taught me in Sharlayan served a purpose,” Thancred replied. The opportune moment for Urianger to wash his back– he leaned into the wall, elbow and breast braced against the tile. “It may seem absurd to you, but I would not change a thing about it. You needn’t feel sorry for me. I– don’t need you to feel sorry for me. The life I chose to live is a cruel one, and ‘tis far preferable to steel oneself for that cruelty early on. If anything, consider me grateful that the situation was not so dire as for Ryne to have to learn such things…”
Urianger put the soap to the side. Hands slid around his waist; one settled around his hips, while the other crawled up to rest on his breast above his heart. Thancred tensed– though he quickly settled. Urianger pressed his lips to the top of Thancred’s head. There the two of them stood in a gentle sway whilst the water pattered against the tiled floor.
“Thou saw fit to expose thyself to me. Allow me, then, to express my thoughts as earnestly as mine ability permitteth.”
“I don’t need sympathy,” Thancred murmured, insistently.
“Nay, not sympathy. Such tales instill within me… an ache, for lack of precise locution. For when I gaze upon thee, I see a heart that overfloweth with compassion and love–”
“Gods, stop,” Thancred could not help but interject. ‘Too much empathy’; a phrase that had never truly felt right.
Urianger would not be deterred. “–for all that it doth witness save itself. I ache to see the way a heart so bright withereth into the blackest of voids without the slightest of hesitation.” He had to sense the way Thancred’s breath caught in his throat; how difficult it felt to swallow. “Thou art my stalwart protector during our travels– I beg of thee, Thancred, allow me to serve thee in such a role where none else may bear witness. Allow me this, for once.”
Some few answers came to mind. From the witty, very well, perhaps I’ll simply let the next beast we cross on said travels to maul you some if you’re so set on playing tit for tat. To the grim, all I do is the barest of minimums. I would make for a poor escort if I failed to keep you safe.
Thancred said nothing.
“If thou wouldst not deign inflict a happening upon Ryne– upon any whom thou cherishest– then I implore thee not to believe thyself worthy of such inflictions. Extend upon thyself the very same empathy thou wouldst extend to any other.”
It’s different, he wanted to say. None should have had to grow up as I had– but many have. Many have, and none of them were fortunate enough to be chosen for greater good. ‘Twas by pure coincidence that I was granted a pardon through Master Louisoix. And I did not deserve it. But by the Gods, I tried to show him I did. I tried so hard. It was the very least I could do.
"Forgive thyself, Thancred. That is mine only wish."
"I've a great many things to be forgiven for," Thancred replied. "You'll have to be more specific than that."
"I do not mean any particular incident. All of it, Thancred. I would have thee forgive thyself for all of it. From the sins of thy youth to this very moment."
“And if I can’t?”
“To try and fail would be preferable by far than to deny thyself the chance at all.”
They stood entangled; Urianger allowed his words to sink in before he pulled away to shut the faucet off. Deprived of the shower's warmth, the Elezen was quick to step out and grab a towel to wrap around his shoulders. Then another for Thancred, who emerged reluctantly, his hesitance bordering on sheepish. Thancred reached to take it– only for Urianger to drape it around his shoulders for him.
He forced another small smile, and pulled it up around his head, hair ruffled beneath it to try and dry it enough that it would not drip a visible trail from bathroom to bedroom.
"I need not tell thee the burden of guilt is a heavy one," Urianger said as they went. "Regardless… thy confessions art not a blessing I take lightly. Thou hast my gratitude for baring thy heart to me."
Thancred tried to push past the part of him that insisted Urianger's words were born of pity alone. He knew better– knew that everything Urianger had ever told him was earnest. If he lied, it was for the best of intentions… and even then, Thancred knew that Urianger was more likely to lie about an earth-shattering revelation than his opinion on whether or not his partner was truly a lost cause.
"The mere fact that you continue to bed me rather than running for the hills is promising enough… fortunately for me. I assure you, there's more where that came from," Thancred said, the tease plain by his tone. He wrapped his towel around his waist and led Urianger to sit at the foot of the bed. Urianger's shawl taken from his shoulders, Thancred dried his hair. Patting down the lengthsome silver locks with gentle hands, ignoring his urge to lean in and smell the sweet soaps at Urianger's nape.
They changed to their bedclothes. Thancred brushed his hair with his fingers whilst Urianger rewound the cords on the nightstand into a neat bundle. Where usually the silence would be broken by lighthearted banter, Thancred could not will himself to think of something witty. Not a word passed between them until Urianger settled himself in bed, Thancred following suit after he'd ensured the door was locked and he knew where his weapons sat in case of an unexpected emergency.
"Those taught in the ways of espionage… to this date, still follow the training thou hadst followed?" Urianger asked.
"And here I thought you were about to tell me how much you loved me," Thancred said, his dry smile quick to falter when he met Urianger's intense stare. "...I've heard nothing to suggest the contrary."
Urianger hummed in thought. Then he closed his eyes, pinched his brows together, took a deep breath, and moved to hold Thancred close. "Wouldst thou care to hear the myriad of ways in which I cherish thee?"
Thancred swallowed the lump in his throat. "I think I would expire from the sickly sweetness of it all. 'I love you' will be more than sufficient."
"I love you," Urianger echoed, dutifully.
"How very curious. I think I might also love you." Thancred kissed Urianger, then murmured, "Let me hold you for a change."
They settled beneath the blankets. Thancred wrapped his arms around Urianger and pressed up against his back. A position that would undoubtedly be reversed come the morn, a tangle of Elezen limbs splayed across him. But as the lights dimmed and they adjusted for comfort, Thancred would gladly take the opportunity to breathe in Urianger's scent and kiss the nape of his neck once before he cuddled against it.
As he laid idle, thought more and more, Thancred wondered. To forgive the disgruntled man whose flesh he inhabited felt inadequate at best. He’d done much to repent, of course– but he could always do more. Always, always, always. For as much as he tried to fight it, how could he be certain that the others would not leave once they realized they could find another who offered more?
But to forgive the boy he’d forgotten about? The scraggly, unkempt thing who did so well at hiding his nightmares from his mentor; who excelled at pretending he didn’t have to double check to make sure his mentor’s fingers were still intact, had to make sure the door to the dormitories wasn’t locked at night, who, from that day forward, always made sure to have some semblance of a plan on how he would leave a room if the door was blocked–
Maybe, just maybe, Thancred could forgive him. The boy had done everything within his power to persevere. And though he hadn't succeeded in enduring that gauntlet of interrogation– still, in a sense, he'd persevered.
He wouldn't be here today without that boy. As feeble and powerless as he was back then. Thancred held Urianger closer and relished in the warmth of his skin.
It began with knots and ended with comfort he'd never asked for. A tale of his youth he'd long since repressed– and perhaps for good reason. Urianger had a tendency to draw these things out from him, for better or for worse.
With that in mind, he closed his eyes, thought clearly of the gangly boy with the suspicious gaze and near perpetual frown. The boy who had yet to fully adopt the suave smile and honeyed words to coax what he wanted from the lips of unwilling informants.
I forgive you, Thancred told him.
The boy did not answer. He did not have the strength to try again.
But that was all right. He could try again, and again, and again– and maybe, one of these days, the boy from Limsa would forgive him, too.