Chapter Text
Giliath
In retrospect, he hadn’t had the easiest life. Growing up in Ymir as the son of wealthy landowners, Giliath had lost his parents to a freak snowstorm when he was a teenager, and the Schwazers took him in and raised him as their own. He had spent a few years in the comfort of their manor, laughing and playing with Teo until he left for Thors. Giliath groomed himself into the type of man that was stoic, mature, and powerful - the picture of an Erebonian icon. Clawing his way up the military ranks wasn’t easy as a common man, having to do twice the work for half the reward. But Vandyck had recognized his talents, had given him resources and opportunities to prove himself. Had placed Olaf under his command, to train and model him into the future of Erebonian might. Not that they would need it.
And then…he had met her. In the midst of a spat with a few of the noble commanders, high command had sent him to a remote border town in the middle of nowhere to ‘cool off’. It wasn’t his fault one of the Hyarms boys had ‘walked into his fist’. Regardless, he had been so taken in by the lino flowers in full bloom that he had knocked into a young woman. In the encounter, she had dropped her bag of groceries and they had veritably exploded into a mass of produce and meat. He had been appropriately apologetic, of course, but she wouldn’t take his money as an apology. Her name was Kasia, and she owned a small bookstore on the small town’s main thoroughfare.
They had ended up arguing for what felt like half an hour until they noticed they were drawing a crowd, and she pulled him into her store. He had goaded her on by asking if she had any rare tomes from his youth, and surprised him when she procured them from the shelf. In his older age, he couldn’t remember what happened after that in exact detail. They had exchanged familiarities, and since he was on duty in that town for another six months, they promised to see each other after that. And, well…one thing led to another. One date became two, three, four. Nights spent in the store’s attic in her tiny bed. A ring. The future. Buying a house in the capital’s suburbs as he grabbed the title of Brigadier General. A bouncing baby boy.
The fire. The attack. Kasia, dead, imploring him to protect their child, their Rean, with a stake of wood through his heart.
The echoed voice that had been in his head for decades, someone - something - telling him to grasp power, as was his right. Ishmelga, it called itself. And then. A light.
Lianne. The rescue. Her powerful magic, saving Rean at the cost of Giliath’s right arm. The memories, returning in a flood. An understanding that he WAS Dreichels Reise Arnor. But he was also Giliath Osborne. Raising Rean with Lianne in Ymir, retiring from the scene and laying low. Mourning Kasia, missing her everyday, but not letting it stop him from loving Lianne. Mixing the past and the present into a cohesive whole. Meeting the Royal Family and taking them under his wing, working with Teo to keep Ymir safe. Watching Rean grow up into his own, all of Kasia’s charms and his own gruff stoicism, mixed with Lianne’s gentle warmth. Giliath was proud to see his son’s growth, and knew he would miss him when he went to Thors.
And then more and more happened. The Civil War, more of Dreichels’ wretched mementos flashing before his eyes. The Crossbell annexation. North Ambria. A quietude. Secrets moving in the dead of night, meeting more and more of Lianne’s - and his - old allies. The summer festival. Cedric’s rapid changes. The assassination attempt. The Gral. The escape from Heimdallr to Ymir before Chancellor Albarea’s forces arrived once more to the hot springs resort, fully armed. The desperate flight down the mountain, Rean appearing with Valimar and the others to warp them all to Eryn.
They had been in the Witches’ hidden village for a few weeks at that point, recovering and gathering their energy. Mourning Class VII’s loss. The Gral had drained them of energy as well, and they all had more training to do, Giliath included. But for now, he would sit in his chair, fishing rod in hand. It was a bit difficult to fish with one hand, but he had grown proficient at it. Lianne had sat down at his side at some point, ready to assist, and they enjoyed the quiet together.
They both knew that one of them would not see the sunrise again.