A knight takes the rear, to ensure the safety of his companions' backs. A knight takes the front to block the first strike of an enemies' attack. No matter the position he is placed in, Steiner will stand tall, grip his sword tightly, and march with all the dignity bestowed upon an Alexandrian knight.

Even now, as bruises likely color the throbbing parts of his torso, the outside of his armor burns under the unrelenting sun, and his boots sink into scorching sand, he uses his remaining strength to keep his head high. The horizon swirls with no sign of a threat but that does not deter him! Freya, her highness, and Zidane all stagger steps ahead. He trails behind not simply because his joints ache like he's held the hilt of his sword for too long nor because the source for the ache in his jaw escapes him, but hurts like it had been broken. He must remain ready and alert for what he assumes will be another attack.

Not simply because he feels hesitant to walk closely at their side.

Their group of four drag themselves across blistering sands, back to rendezvous with the others, yet Steiner can't help but feel as if he's headed the other way. The princess, in her fragile state, stays glued to Zidane's side. Her hand rests gently on his arm while her hair hides whatever expression she holds when she turns to face him. In the past, witnessing such a gesture would have made Steiner boil hotter than the air swelling around them. Now it only reminds him that the princess is entitled to her choices, especially if they involve a respectable, reliable, companion - a denotation he must still make with observation and time.

At their group's front, Freya, a knight like himself, leads the way, spear still in hand. Its tip shines like a ruby over mountains of dust from its latest victim's blood.

Perhaps if Steiner were to look over his shoulder, he'd see the shimmering bloody remains from where they came.

Blinking awake to Freya's hovering face. The flames of a phoenix down washing over him. His body sore beyond the injuries he could recall. The churning in his gut that despite the blood of their enemy splattered across the sand, their victory was not sound. Such feelings trail after him, even as they move farther and farther from the site at which he found them.

The way he had pulled himself to his feet, the tight manner in which Freya walks, the Princess' tremors and her hyper focus on Zidane who moves in silence - trailing back from his usual spot at the front. Steiner may be a simple knight, nothing of a doctor nor a scholar, but he knows the blood of their battlefield was not their foe's alone.

And a more honest part of himself - one he has been becoming more apt at listening to as of late - tells him there may be more to that battle than the enemy he'd believed they faced alone.

The coward within however - the one he wishes he could more easily expel - whispers to him to believe the simple issue at hand. To continue straight, follow the path, look to the horizon - ignore the growing space between these people with whom he has forged unwavering trust.

To think nothing of the weight they seem to carry on their shoulders as they stumble through the sand.

Such a practice... that is not the man he wishes to be.

Pushing forward, exhaustion forgotten, physical protest ignored, he closes the gap.

"Princess. Zidane." he begins, his voice being the first sound in an endless sea of wind and shuffling feet. The princess stops, offering him a glance for which he's eternally grateful. Zidane just barely turns his head, his face obscured by the curtain of his bangs. "Perhaps it would be best if we stopped here to rest. It'd be unwise to continue when we're in no condition for another battle."

Princess Garnet, says nothing, to no fault of her own. Though with the tightness of her jaw and the heavy exhale she releases - he can't help but think she agrees. Yet she gives him no sign of an answer, instead looking to Zidane, which their party now so often does. But he too remains quiet, only pulling a more desperate face from her highness. Thankfully, new footsteps interrupt.

"We're not much better off camping in the middle of the desert," Freya huffs, joining their circle. Though her attention remains on the ever-present danger that exists, just beyond her shoulder. She readjusts her spear before jabbing it into the ground. "If we keep moving, we're likely to join Vivi and the others. As long as they haven't found Kuja's palace first."

"They should only be scouting," Steiner reminds her. Thinking back to Amarant, wrestling the young Eiko into the crook of his elbow as they went off with Master Vivi and Regent Cid. He supposes Quina was there as well. "We do not have to rest for very long, perhaps only an hour. Enough to get us back on our feet, and for the princess to even regain her strength for magic. I believe it would be in… everyone's best interest."

He tries not to be too apparent as his eyes pull him to the someone in particular whose interest he has in mind.

"Zidane," he probes hoping for just a glance at the young man's face. "What do you think?"

Zidane has finally stopped his standoffish position. He faces the group but keeps his head down, as if in contemplation. Though that optimistic interpretation is wiped away as Zidane reaches up and rubs around his collar. The usual ribbon there is loose, the lace rumpled and hanging open. Yet, such minor details barely matter when, for the first time since the battle with that monstrous worm in the sand, Steiner finally hears Zidane speak.

A sword dragging across worn-down broken cobble stones. A fine old man dying of a heavy wet cough. A criminal begging beneath the threads of a tightening noose.

Such are the images that flash before Steiner's eyes as Zidane's voice croaks.

"Ssr'," he coughs, still rubbing at his throat.

"Zidane," Freya hisses, as the princess pulls at his arm. "If it's that bad then you shouldn't speak." Freya reaches toward him only for him to push her hand gently away.

"'M… ka-" He hacks, words undecipherable, the force of the attempt bringing him hanging over his knees. The sound and sight of his shoulders shaking with the effort. It sends Steiner careening through his own head, searching what little he can recall, every moment of the battle, every attack they had laid upon the arid beast. But as he suspects, no matter how far back he tries to go, he cannot recall such an injury to the chest or throat.

He's left to only replay the moments when he'd woken, the details clearer, the battle over, Freya's face. An expression of tension, of pity, of worry. The tails end of a phoenix's feather burning through him. New bruising on his jaw, scratches on his face, a throbbing circle on his arm. His craning search for her highness before he could even sit up. The unsettling sight of something wrong.

"When did this happen?" He asks, the sweat stinging as it trails down the crusting cuts upon his skin. No one faces him. "Was it when I was knocked unconscious?"

Freya, straightens, "... it was."

"An injury to the throat?"

Zidane kneels in the sand and breathes, heavy, with effort, like it hurts to take in air. The princess holds her head low. Freya nods.

Steiner takes a knee.

"Why did no one say something?"

The silence they sit in stings worse than any pain still rippling through his body.

"That falls on me," Freya answers after a long pause. "Zidane expressed that he was... fine to keep moving. I figured it'd be best to rejoin the others. Preferably before another land worm, or worse, an antlion attacked."

She sends a scowl Zidane's way. "But I wasn't aware how badly you were still injured. You fool."

Zidane shakes his head and wheezes a little clearer, "Not t'at... bad. Dagr'... took care o' me. 'M fi—" Zidane falters on his sentence leaving him cringing in pain.

The princess shakes her head, her knuckles show beneath her gloves, tightening around Zidane's arm. Even with ethers, she had no remaining strength to fully heal Steiner's injuries when he woke, her magic faltering as it had since she'd lost her voice. How much had she truly been able to heal Zidane?

All Steiner can think as she looks to Zidane now, is how familiar grief has become on her face.

He grits his teeth. "You are not fine. And saying otherwise is distressing the princess."

It is that comment that makes Zidane finally lift his head.

Leaving Steiner to do nothing but stare at the damage across his companion's face.

Freya, still standing at the ready, even clicks her tongue.

Zidane looks to the Princess, massaging his neck, almost sheepishly - not as though just swallowing is likely excruciating for him. The two say nothing. The princess only grasps his hand. He exhales and then finally meets Steiner's eyes.

Behind their blue, there's a darting of hesitation, a coloring of bloodshot. He nods.

"...'kay," he rasps. "We'll rest."

At those words, Steiner's sure he could deflate into a melted puddle beneath the sun.

"Glad you agree. Though after seeing the state you're in we'd be resting whether you wanted to or not," Freya says. "I'll pitch a tent."

Princess Garnet breathes out a light huff of affirmation. Then very quickly swipes at her eyes.

Zidane pulls a tight smile for her, with practiced ease. Steiner can't help but question all the ignorant, simpleminded reasons he once had to dismiss this young man at her highness' side.

"Dagger. This," he says so softly. "... really isn't... worst... I've had."

It's an admission that is very well a lie yet the thought that this state Zidane is left in - a whistle to his breathing, a constant twitch of pain poorly hidden on his face - is but one in a long list? Steiner can't help but reach out towards the young man, hoping to cross the gap he knows has been there since he'd woken - no - since they'd met. It has never been his forte, but perhaps he could offer a touch of comfort, take the burden of leadership in Zidane's stead. Redeem himself for his failure as knight to fight beside him properly against an enemy. He brushes Zidane's shoulder and as if his palm is made of the same flames that swirl from the sun against their skin, Zidane flinches back.

Steiner feels himself sweat, not simply from the sweltering weather that already has drops of perspiration running along his spine beneath his underclothes. Zidane coughs, turning his head back down, clutching the fabric at his neck even tighter.

Steiner can barely work his jaw - and not because it's sore. He remembers his tight grip around his sword, the four of them fighting side by side, a buffer of sand against his face, the draining of his strength, and then: nothing.

"Zidane, did something…"

He's stopped, by a soft touch, barely tickling his arm.

The princess stares at the contact, her mouth thin, a quivering at her chin. A simple silent order he can't refute is there, despite the protest at the tip of his tongue. Or maybe it's simply the coward inside knowing that for now, it's easier to follow.

"I-I apologize." He shifts away, giving the two of them space. "I should not be—We should be focusing on resting, as I suggested."

"Steiner," Zidane rasps, shaking his head.

"It's fine, save your voice, Zidane," Steiner interrupts. "I shall… assist Freya by taking watch. Princess, please… let me know if you need any assistance."

With that he stands and walks to the ends of their circle, standing as tall as he can despite a new weight burning on his shoulders. The wounds he still cannot remember ache against his skin.


After the tent is pitched and the sun has shifted Steiner finds himself interrupted from his endless pacing through his own footprints. It's a firm, light toned voice that pulls him from his mindless thinking.

"Making quite a bit of progress there it seems."

He halts.

"I can take over here. You need a break as much as anyone else."

"I appreciate the offer, Freya. However, I think it's best to…"

"Keep your distance?"

Steiner finds her cocking a brow at him.

"Well, yes."

She leans against her spear. "Zidane is resting in the tent. If that's what you're concerned about. It seems Dagger was able to heal him a little more."

He startles at that. "She was able to use her magic successfully?"

Freya nods, "She likely struggled earlier due to the stress of having to heal us all straight after battle. I actually came to bring you over so she could heal you as well." She smirks. "At her request of course."

Steiner grinds his teeth. The last time the princess had tried to heal him her hands had shaken around her staff. At the time, just having woken from unconsciousness, he assumed it was exhaustion.

"Was it truly just the battle?"

Only the currents of drifting sand respond.

"Freya," he begins, anxiety pumping through him as he asks, "did something happen while I was unconscious?"

"I'm… not certain," she says, the seriousness returning to her voice. "Zidane and Dagger didn't... have the chance to say. And if you recall, I was tranced at the end of the fight. I was in the air until that disgusting worm was dead."

Such a detail makes Steiner pause, turning to his comrade where she has lifted her hat to eye him, almost strangely. It reminds him with an intimidated - yet forlorn - shiver, of Beatrix. "Wait, I do not recall you trancing," he says. "The last thing I can remember is being hit by a spiral of wind and sand. Everything is blank until you brought me back from the brink."

Freya blinks. "Well, you may not remember it, but you were on your feet after that attack. Admittedly, a little unsteady and a little poor with your sword."

"I don't remember that at all," Steiner says, under his breath. "I was not in my right mind."

"Probably so," Freya agrees. "I tranced shortly after that thing attacked me, so I did not see what happened on the ground."

Steiner struggles to re-ask his original question. The strength from the first attempt already leaving him. "However, you said you were uncertain if… the battle was the only thing impacting the princess. I assume when you returned…"

Freya rubs a hand along her spear, "I found you shouting like a lunatic and promptly knocked you out... Apologies for that, but you weren't yourself." She offers a sympatric eye. "I did ensure that I only used the arm of my weapon to down you."

"No, I-" Steiner rubs at his breastplate, the throbbing of his torso better explained. "Thank you…"

She holds up a hand to stop him. "There's no need. If anything I should have killed that thing faster and been alongside you all sooner. It's because of that I..." She looks behind them, Steiner following her gaze. Across the open sand, just outside the tent's opening, the princess sits, her head against her knees.

Freya sighs. "I cannot truly say what happened while I was in the air throwing spears to the ground."

"And I..." Steiner may break his hand by how tight he holds his fist. "I am... afraid to ask."

Freya hums, tilting her chin up towards the sky. She squints under the rays of the ever present sun. "Perhaps, they're afraid to tell you."

A heat of shame fills his chest, he finds himself unable to look at the princess any longer. "Or they're simply afraid of me."

Freya snorts, "I do not mean offense. But you are not someone particularly scary."

The feeling of Zidane's shoulder darting out from under his hand is one that still sears beneath his glove. "I would hope not." To his comrades at least. "But as you said, I wasn't myself."

Freya is quiet for a moment. "Even so. Intent is an important part of one's action. Whatever happened, you didn't intend it."

Her words make him imagine a line of soldiers marching off to kill whoever his Queen believed deserved it, none the wiser that they brought their swords down upon the mere innocent civilians.

He cannot help but envision Freya's people as the dead.

"I'm not sure I can agree."

Freya walks past him, reaching the starting point of his pace worn trail. Her tail sways dainty over the sand, almost waving him away. "Well, I suppose I understand. Yet, it doesn't really matter what you or even I make of it."

Her eyes are narrow, their color fierce. A reminder of deeds that can never be undone.

"In the end, it is the opinion of the victim that matters."


Steiner accepts the relief of his duties and a parting, undeserving, yet hopeful smile from Freya.

As he turns and walks away, he can't help but wonder how much she truly knows of his scorching path ahead.


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Author's Note:

This was an idea I had in Whumptober that sat in my docs until now. Not sure if this is a surprise but I like whump. And hurt/comfort. And also Steiner. So forgive me but I'm going to hurt the boys.

Also Happy Day 1 of unofficial FFIX Week! Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I'm already done with chapter two and I'll posting it soon (maybe tomorrow?)

As always I love hearing your thoughts in the comments! Or if you just wanna shout about FFIX I'm always down with that too.