SILENCE
Written on July 8, 2020 (♋︎︎)
Warnings: There's nothing explicit in terms of the sexual abuse that underpins this piece, but the emotional abuse is very much center stage. There is also some mention of torture.
When Rafa realized what she had said to him—what she had threatened—she almost immediately began to cry. The tips of her nails dug hard into her palms as she balled her fists. She expected to be struck even though he had never struck her before.
It was no relief when Barrington, kneeling to meet her gaze, did nothing more violent than tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
"If that's what you wish to tell the bishop when he should come to visit, I suppose I cannot stop you, my dove."
His voice was very gentle. She sobbed hard as he caressed her cheek.
"I will not say anything so ridiculous as to tell you you shan't be believed even. The Church and the Crown alike love to grow fat on the lands of disgraced noblemen. I'm sure the right ear would find your lamentation the sweetest of tunes." She turned her face away from him; he turned it back. "There's precedent of worse in any event—just a decade past and they found a Limberrian viscount with the bones of a dozen serving girls sandwiched inside his castle wall. The Marquis had him dance in hot iron shoes for his courtiers before he served him up on a wheel for the rooks to eat."
Rafa winced.
"Would you like that to happen to me, pet? Would you like to see my flesh bird-eaten and my limbs burnt?"
"You don't really think they'd do that," she whispered. Her body felt like a knot pulled too tight.
"I do." He lowered his voice to a soft hiss. "I do and I think you should be glad of it. Your honor should be well avenged and you would be conveyed with all charity to a cloister—or to some more palatable benefactor, perhaps? There are apparently good prospects for foundlings in Gallione these days?"
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I am telling you this because it is true, and because I hope you will believe me when I tell another truth: that with nobody to lead Fovoham, Romanda will not be long at bay."
Rafa crumpled then, slowly sitting down on the marble steps of the hall in which they spoke. Barrington sank to his knees along with her.
"You said they'd left," she said. "You said they weren't coming back."
"They won't... not if we're here to stop them."
He patted her shoulder as she started to break down.
"You... you said they weren't coming back!"
Rafa wailed. She could not keep from remembering then: the countryside grey with ash, the scent of bone burnt to the point of cracking, the endless torrent of soldiers who rushed toward Riovanes' walls—their black livery like a great shadow set to swallow them. She sobbed until her sides seemed to stitch—until her stomach ached with the effort.
"Hush pet, hush. They needn't come back!" She was in his arms now. He stroked her back "That's the really marvelous thing—you know—you, you of all people, get to decide that. Think of all the mighty heroes of the western lands! They had to bleed for three years to push them back, but you..."
Rafa tried to choke off her crying. The Grand Duke embraced her all the harder for it.
"You can keep them away with just a little silence," he whispered coaxingly. "You could think yourself rightly the Savior of Ivalice for having the courage to keep one secret."
She managed to stifle the rest of her tears soon after. It was a skill long-practiced for all it was imperfect.
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