beginning to feel the years

The afternoon sunlight through the Pendants windows catches on the strands of Minfilia’s hair, and it shimmers in Svee’s hands. Svee, cautiously pulling it into ropes, notices as she’s braiding that it’s gone white on the ends. “Your hair is a lot longer than I remember,” she says, inquiring, but she’s still musing over the color change.

“Yeah,” says Minfilia, seated in a chair in front of her. She had been rather quiet since returning from Amh Araeng. 

Svee never wants to fill a silence, but she missed her, far too much, to pretend like she can bear it. “Do you want to cut it?”

She pauses. “No,” she says, after thinking. “I like the white, I think.” She takes a moment again. “Do you like the white?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Svee does like it, though. She thinks it compliments the creases under her eyes, ones she isn’t sure she remembers being there before. She ties off the braid as she finishes, and starts another next to it. “I’m doing your hair. I want to help you do it how you like it.” 

“I like it, then.” Minfilia pulls the finished braid into her own hand, feeling it over. “I think it’s because of Her.”

Svee holds the unfinished braid between her thumb and her palm, running a hand through the rest of it, watching it fall from her hands and settle back against Minfilia’s back. “Yeah?” She says, thinking. There’s more behind Minfilia’s words than she says, and she wants to pry, a little. She leans to the side, trying to see Minfilia’s face, but she’s looking down. “You do have Her to thank for a lot of things.”

“I couldn’t say enough thanks.” Minfilia drops the braid again, letting it rest against her collarbone. “I thanked Her for everything before with my life. I don’t know how to thank Her for giving me another one.”

Svee combs through her hair with her claws again, but slows for a moment. “You did what you said you were going to do. She thanked you in a way She told you She might not be able to. That should be enough.”

She stares down at her hands, lost in memory. “I had no say in Her choices, and I didn’t know Her will. I did my best. I did what She asked of me, and much I carried out gladly," she pauses, “and some less so—but we both know it all had to be done.” She shivers, but not from the cold, and concern takes over as Svee stops braiding, instead moving to sit on the bed in front of her.

Minfilia is exhausted. Svee can hear it in her voice, see it in the way she holds herself. In the event of an unexpected rebirth, Svee doesn’t know if she would feel any different. 

“Yes,” Svee says, “it had to be done.” She brushes aside a loose strand of blonde-white hair, tucking it behind Minfilia’s ear. “And you did it all. She let you go. You don’t have to answer to anyone anymore. You did it, you did wonderful, and it’s done. And now you can be who you want to be.” Svee reaches out and squeezes her hand, gently. She feels quite like she’s the only thing in the universe holding Minfilia here, and if she lets go, she might disappear again—but she finds she isn’t as afraid of letting go anymore. "What do you want? Who do you want to be?"

Minfilia can barely hold back her tears now, and she blinks fast, trying to wish them away. “I don’t know…” She lets out a tense laugh. “I don’t know who that is. I don’t know who I am, after all this time.” 

Finally, she looks at Svee. Those gray-blue eyes, the way they should be—they remind her of the ocean, familiar and serene, and she finds herself at home in them.

She continues, voice wavering. “It’s been over one hundred years since I had the chance to think about what I wanted. I gave up everything I wanted with you, Svee, for the chance to do something right. And I don’t regret it, but…” She takes a deep breath, attempting to steady herself, and Svee squeezes her hand reassuringly. “I was made a saint, and I admit I don’t know how to come back down again. How do you reconcile with that? How do you start over?” She holds a dozen near-unreadable expressions on her face—confusion, desperation. “Is it truly a new beginning? Are my hands really clean?”

Svee looks down, unsure. She thinks, briefly, of the Oracles, of Ryne. A hundred-year legacy, with only one survivor. “I can’t answer that for you,” she says, after a pause. “I’m sorry.” She runs her thumb over the back of Minfilia’s hand, and her lingering touch makes Minfilia shiver again. “I want to say yes, but I can’t. That’s something only you can forgive yourself for.”

Minfilia sits, quiet, for a moment, and then her gaze shifts. She lifts one of Svee’s hands, curious. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re still wearing your ring.” Her voice sounds distant, as though she’s still searching for the words to say what she’s thinking.

“Yeah,” Svee laughs, gently. “I never took it off.” She turns it slowly on her finger with her thumb, letting it catch the light filtering in through the window. “Sometimes I would look at it, when things were tough, and wonder if wishing for you enough would bring you home to me.” 

Minfilia stares at it, silently, and then studies her own hand. “Hydaelyn didn’t seem to want me to have mine back.” The gentle sorrow in her statement weighs in the air, but she doesn’t continue. She just looks at her own hand, bare in the sunlight.

Svee turns something over in her mind. “What a shame.”

“Yeah,” Minfilia replies, absentmindedly. “It was quite the lovely ring. I know you made it yourself.”

They don’t say anything for a few seconds. Minfilia continues to stare at her hand, lost in thought again. Svee looks from their hands, to Minfilia, and back to their hands again.

Then, carefully, Svee takes off her ring. “Well,” she says, gently lifting up Minfilia’s hand. Gently—delicately—she slides the ring onto Minfilia’s finger. “I can always make another.”

Minfilia’s breath catches in her throat, and Svee leans forward instinctively at the sound. “Lana,” she says, breathless.

Svee’s heart leaps at that name, one she hasn’t heard in who knows how long, and she feels like she’s barely holding herself together at the seams. She takes her hand in both of hers again, almost pleadingly. Minfilia keeps her gaze down, eyes fixed on the ring.

"I tried to give you my whole life," Svee says, and the words fall out of her mouth now like she doesn't know how to stop them. "I tried to make you take all of it, while trying to keep all of you with me. It wasn’t fair, what I did. And now this time I'm asking" —Svee leans forward, her voice trembling with feeling she can’t remember holding in, but can’t stop letting go of now— "if you want to share it with me."

Minfilia turns her head away, and Svee notices she's barely holding back tears. Despite her desire to reach out and wipe them dry, she refrains, instead leaning more to try and catch Minfilia's gaze again.

"And you can tell me no. You can leave here tomorrow. Make yourself someone new, start over. I wouldn't blame you." Svee clutches her hand a little tighter, a little desperately. "I just want to know what you want. I want the choice to be yours. This isn't my second chance."

The silence stretches out between them, tangible. Svee leans her head more, Minfilia’s hand pulled toward her lap, and wishes so badly she could just pull her all the way forward into her arms—but she can’t, now, and she knows. She’s tried holding on too tight before, and she wants to be gentler now.

“It’s been seven years,” says Svee, “and five since we last spoke.” She realizes, suddenly, how that feels like both an eternity and like no time at all. Like they had just been getting dressed together in their shared bedroom, or holding hands under the table in the banquet hall. Like it had all been only yesterday, but also like the Svee that held her hand then was not the Svytlana holding her hand now. “I’m sorry for what I said then.”

Minfilia laughs, but it’s a heavy sound, laced with the weight of the memory. “I know you are,” she says. “You told me already.”

“And I’ll say it again,” Svee says, earnest. “I am sorry. I was wrong. I messed up. I don’t want to mess up twice.” 

She speaks slowly, and, slower than either of them can bear, she reaches one hand up to gently cup Minfilia’s cheek in her palm. "We don't have to be bound to anything we did before. I'm different, and I know you know you're different, too. But if you'll let me," she softens her voice, barely above a whisper, "I'd love you again."

Minfilia looks back at Svee for what feels like an eternity, and Svee feels her own heart in her throat as she waits for the answer—and then Minfilia smiles, slow and sweet. 

“Ascilia.” She says it firmly, like she’s letting go of something she’s been waiting a lifetime to say it out loud. “I want to be Ascilia.” Her smile widens as she notices Svee smiling with her, and she leans her head into Svee’s palm. “And I want to be yours. I do.”

Svee grins, and her cheeks hurt with the strain of the almost forgotten expression. “Ascilia, huh?”

She nods. “If I truly want a clean slate, I have to leave her behind,” she says, and her voice is steady and even with confidence. “I was Minfilia, and I am Minfilia no longer. Minfilia did what she had to do. The name was a gift, and I’ve outgrown it. I want to be Ascilia now, and I want to be Ascilia with you, Lana.” She takes a deep breath, and reaches out her other hand, holding Svee’s face in turn. “I want to be Ascilia Farona. I want to start over, and I want you with me, wherever we choose.”

Svee wants to kiss her, right there, but instead she just keeps smiling, leaning in toward her until she almost falls forward. “Okay,” she says, unable to come up with anything more romantic. “Okay, Ascilia.” She remembers something, suddenly, and stands up a little quicker than she means to in her eagerness. “If you’re coming with me, though, I have something for you. Hold on.” She starts to walk away, then turns back. “And take off your dress.”

Ascilia raises an eyebrow in response. “Bossy!” she exclaims. “Say please, at least.”

“No, no, not like that.” Svee laughs, holding up both hands in apology. “This is important. Just.. just take it off. Please.”

She can’t believe she remembered to bring it to Norvrandt with her, but, rummaging through her dresser, Svee knows that she wouldn’t have left without it. She’s never left it behind anywhere.

And there it is, hidden at the bottom of a drawer, underneath her own clothes. A rather plain-looking box, tied with a simple piece of twine. Svee lifts the parcel, gingerly, out of the drawer, and turns to hold it to Ascilia with a toothy grin.

“What’s this?” she says, undressed now. Svee politely makes sure not to acknowledge it. Ascilia crosses the room to meet her, and reaches out to touch the lid of the box.

“I made you something,” says Svee, feeling a little sheepish now. She tugs the twine up with a claw, snapping it loose, and lets it fall to the side. “Well, I made you a few somethings. I had a lot of time.”

She holds out the box in one hand, gesturing for Ascilia to open it. She watches, expectant, as she takes the lid off, and her eyes grow wide at what lays on top.

“Oh,” Ascilia says, mesmerized. “My dagger. You kept it?”

Svee nods. “The ribbon, too.” She taps the hilt, where the pink thread remains tied, as it had been for the past seven years. “You told me to return it to you, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Ascilia picks it up as though afraid to break it, and Svee gently tugs the ribbon free, leaving the dagger in her hands. “I just didn’t think… well. I suppose I didn’t think it’d actually make it back to me.”

Svee turns back toward the dresser, setting the package down for a minute. “Here,” she says. “Turn around.” Ascilia obliges, and Svee pulls her hair up with the ribbon. “I held onto it for a long time. I kept that dagger on me everywhere I went, and the ribbon, too. I only took it off today. I guess I knew.” She ties her golden hair into a bun, but then pulls the ends loose until they cascade down around the bun, reminiscent of her original ponytail. “There’s more, in the box.”

Ascilia turns back around, and Svee offers the box again for her. “I can’t believe you made me gifts.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually get them, honestly.” Svee laughs. Her face feels so warm, and she looks back at Ascilia with her embarrassment clear on her face. “I made them because I was lonely. I held onto them just because.”

The smile she gets in return is worth the honesty, Svee thinks. Ascilia reaches into the box again, and pulls out a bundle of pink fabric—she pauses, looking at Svee in bewilderment, and Svee takes it from her again.

“Let me help,” Svee offers, unfolding it. “I want to make sure it fits.”

There are several pieces, and Svee unwraps the leather and separates it from the cloth. She gestures to Ascilia, and helps her put the cloth over her head, pulling it down over her head slowly until it rests on her shoulders. Ascilia watches her, more focus in her eyes than Svee had experienced directed at her in years, and Svee blushes a little. She doesn’t stop, crouching to pull the rest of the fabric loose until it cascades down around her legs.

Svee holds out a pair of shorts next, and Ascilia grasps her shoulder with one hand as she steps into them. Svee’s breath trembles for a moment at her grip—it’s been a long time, she thinks, since anyone laid hands on her scars. She doesn’t shy away, though, and helps keep her wife steady, tugging the black fabric upward.

She reaches back to pick up one of the previously discarded pieces of leather. “Lift your arms a little,” she mutters, gruff, and gently pulls the corset to encircle her waist. “If you can reach it, there’s a neck piece over there, too.” Ascilia picks it up, and Svee sets herself to work on the strings.

She threads the laces of the corset with a kind of tenderness she had almost forgotten she possessed, pulling the strings delicately through and tightening them as she goes. Ascilia stands frozen in place, and Svee notices through the open back of the dress that she’s covered in goosebumps.

Svee pauses, shifting the laces to hold them in place between the fingers of one hand, and places the other hand in the divot above Ascilia’s hip. In the place where the skirt parts, there’s an exposed sliver of skin, and she drags one claw across it slowly; then, even slower, she places a single kiss between the curves of her shoulderblades.

Ascilia takes a shuddering breath. “Lana,” she says, so softly, and Svee hums in response, still leaning against her spine. She can feel the tension in Ascilia’s shoulders as she waits, expectant, for Svee to do something else—but instead, Svee leans back again, returning to her laces.

“There,” Svee says, calm but triumphant, tying the corset laces in a tidy bow. She steps back and sits herself down on the bed again, observing her handiwork. “There’s some more little pieces, but this is most of it. Tell me what you think.”

Ascilia turns toward the mirror, inspecting, and tugs here and there at the cloth. The shoulders are open, and so is the back, with a long, ruffled skirt, open on one side. It’s a style that Tataru learned from Ishgard, supposedly, with changes Svee made on her own. Svee, mostly accustomed to fashioning leather and metal, found herself a little out of her depth with a sewing needle, but the simplicity of the dress is flattering, she thinks.

“Oh, Lana, this is beautiful!” She grabs a fistful of the skirt with one hand and pivots on her heel, until the fabric flares out around her like a halo. “Did you make this?”

“Tataru helped me with the pattern, but yeah, I made it.”

“Tataru and her measurements,” she chuckles, a sound that Svee so sorely missed, and turns back to face her. “I should have guessed. She kept records for everyone. I’ll have to thank her, and tell her I missed her dearly. And you sewed it, too?” She continues twirling gently, and then holds a sleeve up to investigate it. “Your stitches are remarkable.”

Svee grins, tucking a hand under her chin and raising her eyebrows expectantly. “What can I say?” She smirks. “I’m good with my hands.” 

What she wants to tell her is how many times she undid every thread. How she fussed over it for hours, long before she ever considered the possibility of ever seeing it worn. How she brought it with her everywhere, delicately wrapped, tucked at the bottom of her bag. How the dress itself was a plea for forgiveness and a love letter all wrapped up in that rose-colored fabric, one she never expected to have the opportunity to give. 

But she doesn’t. Instead, she just looks at her, spinning in the sunlight, and wishes she could freeze this moment in perfect clarity and live in it forever. Watching her here, she thinks, could be enough. She doesn’t need anything else.

Ascilia snorts. “Oh, shove it.” She laughs, disapprovingly, shooting Svee a don’t be crude look and shaking her head, but she’s smiling like she forgot how to stop.