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[apothecaryave]

Familial Pains

Going home was never the pleasant experience poetry dictated it should be, not for Aveline. But she had run clean out of excuses, each letter she’d received somehow containing more guilt than the next. It was to the point where simply seeing the familiar parchment of her mother’s stationary made her stomach drop. The longer she tried to put off opening it, the larger it grew in her head, taking over the desk and all other correspondences until she at last slit it open with the resigned panic of war prisoner set to meet her execution at last.

We are well, her mother assured her, save for the pain of your absence. Aveline always rolled her eyes at the sentiment, convinced the money she sent on the regular was more than enough to ease any such sorrows.

 She’d never been close with her mother or her brothers, and her biological father was not a man she entertained any notion of reconciliation with. It didn’t matter that the injury he’d caused her adoptive father had been an accident, or that he had shown her paternal affection despite the infidelity her birth was proof of. All she had to do was recall every lost, confused, then guilty expression of her adoptive father whenever he couldn’t recall where he was or why he happened to be holding a sack of coin in hand.

 That innocent panic of his before she explained that they were headed to the show he’d been looking forward to, and that what he was holding was the simple payment given to him after dropping off a promised shipment of medicine on their way — no apology could fix that. No number of ‘sorry’s and ‘I didn’t mean to’s would make it any less difficult to explain to her real father, over and over again, what was happening and why it was happening when all she wanted was to spend a simple, happy evening visiting the man who never should have loved her.

 But it could never be so simple as avoiding the faces and voices that brought all her old feelings up from under her skin. Now her bothers had married; there were nieces and nephews to spoil, mild ailments of aging to remind her of her mother’s mortality, and a compounding sense of familial responsibility she had never escaped.

 Aveline was not a son: she would never inherit the farm, nor had the land been of any real consequence to her livelihood once she had left the village. But she was still the eldest, and by far the most financially successful, and despite the emasculation, her father and brothers had benefitted greatly from her contributions over the years. The farm, as she was often told, was thriving and expanding thanks to the newly hired hands, tools, plants, and all other investments that had brought the once humble landscape into extensive orchards capable of sustaining the quickly growing line of Durands.

 She couldn’t deny that a part of her still, despite all reason, was planted firmly in that farm. As the carriage rolled down the road, she was surprised by how little had changed over the years. The overgrown streams were still overgrown, long grass grasping at the energetic splash of water that escaped with crisp, melodious sound. It suddenly felt not so long ago that she explored those slippery rocks barefoot, braving the wicked chill as she searched for colorful pebbles to collect.

 It was her home itself that had changed the most. The carriage came to a halt at a place she never would have recognized had it not been for the orchards surrounding it. Gone was the humble cabin — a cozy one room affair with a loft where the whole family had slept. In its place was the sort of town house she might have expected within Gridania, more than three times the original’s size replete with a second story and three chimneys.

 “Time has been good to us all.” Aveline murmured to herself as she stepped out of the carriage, one hand occupied with a large bag. She gave the coach a handsome tip, but scarcely managed to turn around before not a few, but six children came bounding out of the front door.

The eldest (or so she assumed, the girl being the tallest among the gaggle) stopped short a few feet of embracing her, instead throwing her arms up excitedly in a bright, “Auntie Aveline!” The other children joined her in a semicircle with the same chorus, and Aveline was suddenly helpless with awkwardness. Being the eldest of her siblings, unmarried, and utterly foreign in the place that was once her home, even ‘hello’ felt strange on her lips. Did she call these charming strangers darlings?

 “Aveline!” Ah, that sharp, high voice meant to be softened with affection could belong only to her mother. Though far from elderly, her mother’s face had new wrinkles, and though she hastened without delay toward her daughter, Aveline could tell that her knee was still giving her trouble.

 “Mother.” Aveline tightened in her mother’s embrace, suddenly and guiltily wishing that she’d been stolen up by her niece’s arms instead. Those young eyes were so bright and innocent in their childish delight — no expectation, no disappointment, just wonderment at the mysterious woman their grandmother had undoubtedly spoken of.

 Her mother, on the other hand, noticed this off-putting tension immediately, and disapproval muddied her gaze as she stood back with her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Aveline, what sort of greeting is that after all this time? Your father and I have been aching to see you!”

Aveline grit her teeth. Of all the words she might have said, those were among the worst. That she should feel any familial guilt over that man was a notion capable of making her turn her back there and then to run after the carriage that was already trotting off.

 But Aveline had been raised to be a polite girl, and the reservedness she saved for the most difficult of her apothecary clients was in full force. “I’m sorry, Mother — it was such a long trip. But I’m delighted to see all my nephews and nieces in such good health. As ever, you look lovely in blue.”

 Her mother glowed at the compliment and gave her shoulders a squeeze before leading her inside along with the gaggle of children. Everything afterward was a blur of activity. There wasn’t even time to feel further awkwardness, for she was reintroduced to her brothers’ wives, their children, and the veritable waterfall of things that had changed about the Durand farm. Their well-to-do lifestyle was obvious in every detail, from the crisp cusp and polished buttons of her brothers’ shirts to the small but comfortable sitting room near the front of the house. Here was a proper growing estate where the Durand name might take root and thrive for generations.

 And she had no place in it.

 Not that she was unwelcome, of course. Her nieces and nephews gushed over the presents she had brought them, pastries from her shoppe with dolls and toys thrown into the mix for good measure. Young children were easy to buy gifts for, and their pure adoration for so simple a gesture made Aveline happy in a way she’d not felt in a very long time.

 She found, too, that her sisters-in-law were easy women to get along with, mild and kind-spirited and far more than her brothers deserved — a point they smirked at when they saw her sisterly admonition cast over her shoulder. Though her brothers still couldn’t pass on their old habits of teasing her, the barbs had diminished greatly with age. She didn’t know them as well as she might have liked to, she realized, and a sudden emptiness threatened to claim a sliver of her heart. How much had she missed, and was all her time spent away as worthwhile as she liked to believe?

 It took only the entrance of her father to remind her that it had not been so. The room felt stifling the moment he entered. He was a tall man, a proper elezen with the lean musculature and pointed ears to prove it. He all but loomed over the gathering of hyurs, entirely out of place with his elegantly angled features. Even his poise was different and she hated it, that natural grace not at all in line with a family of humble farmers.

 How was it, after so many years, that her rage could bubble so hotly to the surface? There was no provocation in his expression, just a deep sorrow and gentle resignation in the face of her rejection. He asked nothing from her, no affection and no acknowledgment, greeting her gently and assuring her that she was welcome.

 And that just made her angrier. She wanted desperately to hate him as the villain he was, to charge him as a negligent, cruel, awful man, but it was plain his place was firmly rooted in the home. Her brothers admired him, her mother unrepentantly loved him, and his direction had undeniably been key in turning the poor fortune of the Durand family around. Aveline had merely speeded along the careful seeds he had sown, and one look at the gorgeous orchards peeking from the windows assured her of this.

 Thus, all the awkwardness returned once the children had settled and she was left in the company of adults and exceptionally delicious apricot wine. As the sun set, casting a warm glow about the sitting room, conversation slowed, turned serious, and she was faced with the questions she’d feared the most.

 “Are you never going to settle down, Aveline? You always go on about your bistro and that apothecary of yours, but never your personal life. I hate to imagine you lonely.” Her mother’s face was all concern, though the last of her words pierced Aveline’s pride with the subtlety of a lightning bolt.

 Aveline’s hand tightened around the curve of her wine glass, but she let the sensation go almost immediately. Had she been a male, she mused, a lifestyle of keeping lovers in lieu of marrying would have made her an eclectic, but not unredeemable rake. As a woman, however, she might as well have been a spinster. An artist or businesswoman could still have merit in the eyes of her family, of course, but to lack a man with a ring on his finger was lacking all the same.

 “I’m many things, but not lonely. I’ve lovers who bring great enrichment to my life and that is all I desire.” Aveline struggled to reign in her smile as her mother gasped (and frankly, the rest of the room’s company as well), the latter caught completely off guard by her daughter’s unmistakably proud admission.

 “Such men can’t provide you with a family, my dear. Do you not want a family?” Of course her mother pressed the issue, her shameless hypocrisy making Aveline’s ears hot. That wretched man sitting beside her mother, her birth father by all technical terms, had sired her as a bastard child. The father of her brothers, the man her mother had married, was the selfsame person who had been injured and willing to die some place quiet after coming to the ridiculous conclusion that the shameless elezen in front of her could provide for the family better than he ever could.

 She wanted to scream. She wanted to ruin her mother’s new dress and shatter her wine glass at the woman’s feet. Her whole body trembled with fury, and she very nearly forgot the question entirely. It took every onze of willpower in her body to restrain herself, and the fury slowly, painfully cooled into ice. Silence filled the room while she did nothing but sip from her glass.

 “Mother…” Oliver, the youngest of her two brothers, had enough sense to intervene, but not the words to do so effectively. Did he share the same sentiment, even in the smallest way? The full intensity of Aveline’s gaze fell on him like daggers. The way he recoiled, stunned and penitent, made her sick with the realization that he simply wished to avoid conflict. How prudent of him, wanting to keep the peace at the price of bottling all her ugly feelings away.

 But it was selfish, to step back into their lives and cause a scene. Here was blissful happiness, a simple life managing orchards and making fruit products. All the old wounds had been forgiven and healed over years ago. They didn’t need an emotional knife to start the bleeding again.

 Aveline ignored the throbbing in her head as her mind wrested full control of her emotions, twisting them so they could fit back into the depths of her chest. Her voice wouldn’t shake, but it remained empty when she spoke. “It’s quite fine, Oliver. What I want from my lovers isn’t a traditional thing. On all accounts, they lead lives far more exciting than I do. To tie them down in any regard, be it to my particular lifestyle or as my only devoted partner, would bring no one happiness.”

 “Oh, Aveline, you’ve always been so unselfish. But you seem so unhappy, and I—”

 Aveline cut her mother off with a not-quite-subtle thud of her hand against a nearby end table as she set her glass down. She stood quickly, brushing off her skirt with one quick, angry flourish. “The orchards have been calling to me since I first laid eyes on them. Please do excuse me while I catch some fresh air.”

 Who in the seven hells was her mother to decide whether or not she was happy? A woman didn’t bask in adultery and presume her bastard child’s life would be a happy one. If anything, Aveline decided, she had learned how be happy despite her mother’s infuriating weakness. She took these feelings out on a pebble as she kicked her way along one of the orchard’s paths, finding petty satisfaction in its helpless skitter before her fury.

 At length, she came across a stream marking the end of the orchard. The sun had set some time ago, leaving the world washed in pale moonlight. Beyond the water lay the forest proper, deep and dark with the tall shade of trees obscuring everything. She was utterly alone.

 Something inside her snapped at last. “You half-witted, pompous strumpet! How dare you! How dare you pass judgment on my life! You weak, disdainful, miserable cretin, basking in some bastard’s love while father suffers! You have… no right…”

 Her whole body trembled as she shouted into the trees, the world silently absorbing her furious tumble of insults. It still wasn’t enough. Forgetting all decorum, she bent over, snatching up pebbles and twigs to toss into the stream. They made a wonderful cacophony of splashes, but more importantly, helped to temper her outburst through simple exhaustion. A few of the flatter stones even managed to skip a few times across the water before disappearing forever.

 “If I’d been your son, you’d be celebrating my success!” Splunk! “But you abandoned father! You abandoned me!” Sploosh! “What sort of mother speaks of marriage when she has no dowry set aside? You selfish, ungrateful—” Aveline had escalated to the biggest rock she could lift without hurting herself, slinging it into the water with the force of both arms. It made a magnificent splash high enough to reach her, the cold water splattering over her dress like a furious downpour of rain.

 Her eyes were wild and wide as she glared down at the water. Breathless and bent over her knees, all she felt was an empty sense of satisfaction for having let the words out. How long had they bubbled under her every smile? She hated every reminder of such feelings, all of them irrevocably leading back to her mother. Weak. How could a woman be so weak?

 And why did she still feel so angry over it? Any rational person would tell her she was overreacting — the rational voice in her head said as much. She was deep into her twenties and far beyond blaming any insecurities on her parents. The past just insisted on being so very present, her mother’s incessant happiness, her happy family and idyllic life hammering deeper every miserable memory she had of her father.

 Even as a child, scarcely a decade old, she’d sensed death in her adoptive father’s intention when he left home. There had been a panic in her she hadn’t understood, an urgency that warned her she might never see him again. No matter how old she grew, she’d never forget his gaunt face, defeated and hopeless as he sat listlessly beside the road.

 “Go back home, Darling,” He’d told her. And she’d refused, clinging to his sleeve as she sat next to him. He was too numb to consider her feelings, and found himself rambling on about his every insecurity. His wife didn’t love him — she was better off with a man who could make her happy. He’d mucked up his first ever attempt at running a farm, threatening starvation on his own kin — they were better off with a competent man who could keep them fed. He no longer had a reliable mind, the head injury impairing much of his ability to remember the most basic things throughout the day — he was better off without himself.

 Every day since, she had battled his each and every defeat. Before he gave up his merchant business peddling goods across the realm, he had been a competent and optimistic man. So she told him to be a merchant again, and like an old man remembering how to skip, he’d found some friends, some debts, and took to the road as if he’d been born for it.

 He’d needed help at every step, too. When he inevitably bumbled a deal or forgot where he’d put his earnings, she’d been there to take on odd jobs to keep them fed. When he got them lost on a long road between cities, she’d been there to forage and shelter and guide them back on the right track. She still remembered how much the hunger had hurt, how scary those dark nights alone were. But there had been happy moments, too, gazing under the stars and having her first earned coin dropped into her hands.

 Over time, it had gotten easier. She’d matured rapidly and learned quickly how the world far beyond her village worked. And, in time, her father had found some comfort and shelter in an old friend from Gridania. The blessed woman offered him food and shelter on the pretense that he manage her stable’s finances and help look after the chocobos. More than that, she genuinely cared for him, perhaps even loved him, given the looks she saw them exchange when they thought she wasn’t looking.

 She had no reason to be bitter, not with her fortune, her lovers, and all that had evolved in her favor. And yet, standing amid the familial bliss of her mother’s farm, she felt pity for the girl who had parented herself into adulthood. There was no shaking the feeling that something precious had been taken from her, yet she had no right to feel that she was lacking in anything.

 “Are… Are you alright, Aveline?” Colin, the oldest between her brothers, was timid as he approached. The crunch of his footsteps was followed by the warm glow of lantern light.

 Her senses returned to her abruptly, and she absently wiped at her damp cheeks before turning around to face him. “I’m fine. There’s no cause to worry.”

 Colin bit his lip, and her stomach twisted at the thought of what he might have overheard. “I’m glad. I heard shouting.”

 Oh. Well. “I might have been letting off some steam. There’s nothing you need concern yourself over.” Her expression was a guilty one, and the streaks of mud her hands had left on her cheeks didn’t add any dignity to the moment.

 “I see.” Colin’s gaze lingered, brimming with concern, but all that followed his simple statement was a long and awkward silence. “You can tell me about it if you want.”

 Aveline blinked, surprised. She expected him to urge her back to the house, not to expand on her irrational outburst even more. “There’s really nothing to say. Not more, at least.”

 Her brother shifted uncomfortably before stepping closer. When he saw the extent of her dampened clothes, the line of his mouth flattened into yet more concern. “May I see you back home? It wouldn’t be right if you caught a cold.”

 Her pride and a stronger need to be alone very nearly turned him down, but they’d set aside a guest room for her and it would be significantly warmer than the evening air steadily giving her goosebumps. She sighed and relented with a nod, placated by her brother’s worry.

 The walk back was a slow and quiet one. Were it not for the perfect silence, she likely wouldn’t have heard his muttering.

 “I have regrets, too.”

 Aveline lofted a brow at this curious confession, not having expected it in the least. “I beg your pardon? Not about Mother, surely.”

 “It’s more to do with you.” Colin ducked his head, uncharacteristically bashful. “I haven’t been much of a brother.”

 “You can’t blame yourself for the distance of our parents. Though you were a miserable tease when we were younger, it’s nice to see that you’ve outgrown the worst of it. I don’t know how your wife would stand you otherwise.” Her smile turned wry — it was good to tease him as a sister should.

 Her brother answered with a faint snort. “Lily always felt so delicate to me. You know how she struggled carrying our first child, and the first thought that came to my mind was that if anyone could help, it was you. You’ve always been so far ahead of me, strong and untouchable. I was so foolish, never thinking of how vulnerable you must have felt.”

 “Where… is this coming from?” Aveline felt a prickle of something uncomfortable. Her brother had never been one for feelings, and she frankly hadn’t been one, either.

 “I just…” Colin rubbed at the back of his neck, never meeting her gaze. “I just want you to know you’re not alone. I know I’m too late, and I’m a poor excuse for family, but this is your home, too. No matter how you feel about Mother, you have a place here if you ever want it.”

 Aveline didn’t know what to say, and silence fell naturally between them again. On the one hand, she was perfectly ready to inform him that she would never want a place where her mother resided, but it wasn’t an offer from her mother. For once, utterly independent of his family, Colin had decided to be a brother.

 “Thank you.” The two words were the most she could manage in the moment. All other thoughts led to old pains and complications she was too tired to consider, and so it was a brief and awkward goodnight when she finally stepped into her room.

[apothecaryave]

Splinters

“There are those who, under duress remain a solid rock of strength. And then there are the majority who splinter, allowing anger, frustration and doubt to justify abandoning the task they have been set to. Most of the time, this splintering happens over small things — leaving a mess instead of cleaning up the shop for a proper closing, finishing the last touches of a project even as your fellow workers leave one by one, keeping a long vigil into the night after one’s companions have all fallen asleep — ‘tis an endless list.

“When I was young and beset by brothers who had a mind to play over helping with the house (it was, after all, ‘girly’ work), my mother would have none of my excuses. At the end of the day, if the dishes were not not clean and the beds not made, the one who received the brunt of the punishment was me.

“I had my share of tantrums and pouting, and though one could point endlessly at the unfairness of our tasks, I learned one particular lesson quite early in life. In those moments when no one is watching, when you are alone in the last push toward success, bemoaning the injustice of life does little to help.

“But it is in those sad and lonely moments that we become stronger than we were before. Ingenuity finds not only those who are brilliant, but persistent, and as time went by I learned how to take small amusement from chores. Now I have a fondness for making lavender sachets for fluffed pillows and conquering all manner of household odors with a simple mix of hot water, white vinegar and lemon juice.

“While I don’t imagine cleaning will become less tedious as the days wander by, keeping a clean home as my mother pressed into me has its simple pleasures. Treating wood properly, after all, makes for far less splinters.”

[apothecaryave]

A Paternal Story

Paternal love had been an unfortunately complicated aspect of Aveline’s life and one she ever struggled with. On one hand, her hyuran father was a kind and well-meaning man she could get along well with despite his frequent lapses in memory. But on the other hand, her father by blood was a man she was yet to reconcile with. For all the elezen’s gentleness and endless apologies, nothing could change what he had done — which was nothing short of tear her family apart.

Where had it all started? One might say the day two hyurs met, one a humble farm girl and the other a Gridanian merchant with dreams of settling down one day. And settle down he did, selling the last of his wares and investing his profits into a new farm where he could raise his family in peace. No more long ventures avoiding angry beastmen and bandits, no more uncertainties about the investment of his stock and where it would sell the best.

They had two healthy young boys, which would have been a blessing had the farm done well over the next few years. But be it odd aetheric storms, invasive critters or his own lack of real experience, the hyuran fellow could barely provide for them through one bad harvest after another.

It had only been wise at the time to hire on help, someone who knew what they were doing. And that had come in the form of some Ishgardian refugee who was happy simply to have a place to eat and rest. But the elezen fellow among them was handsome and full of near knightly charms, and it wasn’t long before the wife’s heart wandered. When a blonde-haired hyur with pointy ears was the next new member of the family, the depth of her mother’s betrayal was undeniable.

And yet the father of the house was hardly bothered by it — at least in a few important regards. He loved the little girl as his own daughter and raised her as such, content that his increasingly disappointed wife was happier. The farm had been doing better, after all, but the tensions of such a triangle had to break at some point.

A heated argument later and the father had his head bashed in one night, the result of a fit of rage. The words exchanged by the men didn’t matter — it was plain someone had to leave and the hyuran father was the one to decide his family was better without him.

He could not, however, leave without an insistent little girl tailing him. And so, against the wishes of her mother, she made her living on the road as her father once had, learning his old routes and handling his newly broken memory as any diligent daughter would.

[apothecaryave]

Stress

“I don’t understand. How could it have triggered such a strong reaction? He was... He was...” Aveline crumpled over her desk as the memory surfaced, such a handsome face marred with incredulous amounts of pain! Her specialty lay in creating restoratives, not trying to cure genetic diseases! Why had she ever thought she could do it? It had all started with a crush. A man, tall and dark and fair with a cynical bite to near every word he said. He had been so secretive about his condition and purpose, yet slowly, one interaction after another, he had brought her into his little circle. And somehow she’d built up the confidence to at least attempt at some manner of pain reliever despite having so little to go off of... And so here she was, broken by failure and exhaustion. What little she knew of conjury had proven a mere modicum of comfort to her patient, the largely neglected pool of magic within her strained to its full capacity. And yet still, late into the evening, she was still pouring over books and taking notes in some vain hope that she could find a solution. “Maybe the aetheric infusion just needs to be closer to his personal aether... something his body will accept...” She thrust open another book of alchemic theories, this time disturbing her pile enough to send a small stack of papers fluttering to the floor. 

Too tired to do anything more than stare dully at the mess, she turned her gaze back to her book and rubbed at her eyes. The letters were starting to get blurry, and the longer she stared, the further her head sank until she was sprawled over her desk asleep.

[apothecaryave]

Dream of a Ball

For as much as Gridanians were said to hate the gaudy and exorbitant, the Shroud was a wonderous backdrop for both. With pale lanterns bobbing like faerie lights against the dark framing of the trees and silken gowns mimicking flowers in the large clearing, the scene embodied a tenebrous pastel dream. Aveline watched from the sidelines of course, happily perched under the shy boughs of a willow tree. Caramel toned violins and feathery flutes danced over the nearby pond and nearly, very nearly drew the curious doe closer to the light and swaying dancers at the center of the scene.

[apothecaryave]

Aveline’s Man

A man should be gentle

His heart a soft petal

His mind doubly sensible

His toughness ostensible

Let the ruffians have a rogue or a rake

With sharp, sensuous smiles that turn out fake

Swoon over the warrior, the veteran of blood

With rippling muscles and charm clear as mud

A man should be sweet

His kind words a treat

His virtue discreet

His goodness replete

Someday I may yet meet such a fellow

A knight as strong as his heart is mellow

Where shall I find him as time goes by?

Why, dear reader, right when pigs fly

[apothecaryave]

Frozen Wishes

"Are you certain your arm is alright? I can take another look at it for you." Aveline's gaze lingered on the noble would-be sword for hire as he followed along beside her, but he merely shook his head.

"The bite wasn't deep, and you've done more than enough already. I wouldn't mind the full story of why you wanted to come here, though." His deep voice was warm against the frigid air, the crunch of his boots oddly comforting in the silent, snowy landscape.

Aveline turned her gaze ahead of them to where a stone monument darkened the cliffside. At its base was carved a memoir of Ishgard's ancient founders, along with grated alcoves that were eternally lit with candles. With the passing of the Dragonsong War, it was no wonder more visitors came to pay their respects and keep the monument glowing.

For her part, Aveline had brought along a candle as well, upon which was carved a name she barely knew but remembered fondly all the same. As she lit the candle and set it to rest with its burning brethren, she let out a deep sigh.

"When I was but a child travelling with my father, we often visited Coerthas to make a handsome sum on selling produce we'd brought along from the Shroud. The journey was not without danger, however, and one day we were beset by a pack of dragons.

"The guards with us had not been prepared for so sudden an attack, and one of the wagons caught fire ere half the caravan knew what was happening. I don't remember much beyond the smoke and snarl of dragons, but we were very fortunate that a group of knights had been tailing the pack and made it in time to render us aid.

"T'was how I ended up borne up in the arm of a tall stranger whose face was hidden behind a frightening helmet. All I did was sob against him, helpless and frightened.

"Even after we arrived at the knights' camp, I could not be consoled. And yet the fellow that held me spoke only in a gentle murmur. I did not understand that my father had been injured nor why he couldn't come to me, but I distinctly remember the warm lentils and chestnuts they made from some of the wares they'd managed to save.

"It would not be until long, long after my father was bandaged up and we were on our way that I would understand the full depth of what those knights did for us. Asking for nothing in return, they'd pried us from fiery jaws of death and consoled a silly little girl.

"By the time we returned some seasons since, the knight who had treated me so kindly was no longer with his company. His fellows informed us of his cruel passing without so much as a body to bury. I, with my flowers and sweets for him, cried helplessly once again.

"How patient they still were with me, how kind! And so I had but one wish, and that was to remember the brave man who had saved me. I come here every year to honor him and his sacrifice, my dear Ser Deuteroix." Aveline contemplated the burning wax for a long moment, and her companion fell into a similar, reverent silence.

"So prone are we to thinking of memory like stone, but in truth it is more like this wax." Aveline broke her own silence as the wind toyed with each little flame, her mood waxing thoughtful. "It changes each time we light it, slowly taking on new shapes. And if there is any hope to maintain the integrity of its original shape, it must needs be rekindled often."

[apothecaryave]

A Morning In

How lovely is the sun’s first beam

Alight upon a silver stream

Stirring one and all to wake

As the quaky aspens shake

Blurry-eyed and shy of cold

I linger in my shelter’s fold

While the breeze nips at my cheek

I listen to the nearby creek

The birds insist I raise my head

Awoken by the sky’s first red

While they tweet the squirrels sneak

‘Round the camp to get a peek

Morsels yet may still remain

Like dew after an autumn rain

For all their chatter, still I rest

Happy in my cozy nest

When the sun is brighter still

I’ll wake at last and get my fill

[apothecaryave]

Saucer Shuffle

Few places were more obnoxiously loud and shiny than the Saucer. Aveline could certainly understand the appeal — between scantily dressed attendants and the addictive clamor of slot machines, there was no shortage of sights and activities to enjoy. For her, however, that was precisely the problem. The constant din made her ears ring, the neon lights near everywhere making her head ache until it throbbed.

So it had fallen upon her companions to acclimate her to the place as best they could, given their own love of the place. Oh yes, the man and his wife knew the Saucer as tenderly as a mother knows her own child, cashing in high stakes games and smart plays for no shortage of luxuries the place had on offer. All they had to do was put a pair of sunglasses on Aveline and off they guided her from one activity to the next.

Moogle claw games, fashion judging, chopping kiosks and jumping marathons — her head still swam just thinking about it all. There was some mercy, however, in the slightly quieter upper balconies where one could play at cards and mahjong. With a glass of something cool and sweet on her right and a pristinely new set of cards on her left, the time had come at last to see her companion at his most dastardly.

His long fingers shuffled the cards with flashy grace before he set the game up between them. Whilst she had a vague understanding of Triple Triad and its basics of stealing cards through optimally matched numbers, their friendly match went about how she’d expected, with him dominating her hand within just a few moves.

Of course he had been generous in his praise toward her very first game, but she suspected his pleasure came from far more than an easy victory. The bright, near impish gleam of his eyes as he simply watched her, pale hand fluttering over her cards in a nervous scurry — how was she supposed to concentrate with that? And the soft noises he made, an actual giggle here or a ‘tsk’ there would throw her right off just before he captured one of her cards with all the tender apologies of a boulder crushing an ant.

Matching wits against her in such a way was utterly unfair, but she couldn’t say that it bothered her. No, there were far worse things than being flustered under a clever hand and bright, merciless smile.  

[apothecaryave]

A Neatly Wrapped Up Tale

“How I tire of their argy-bargy across the table, like children. There is but one thing our houses can agree upon and it is our unfortunate engagement.” Sitting for hours with her tongue held hostage by propriety, it was a wonder Annalise hadn’t exploded sooner.

Beside her, Lord Drakanstein was ever the picture of stolid grace, the downturn of his stormy gaze as condescending as she’d come to expect. “On the surface, it may appear as much. Everything rests upon the commitment of duty and shunning thine so openly doth thy family no honors.”

“Ah, but of course. Why should the truth of emotion be given any light when the great tapestries of lies we weave upon the surface are so much lovelier to behold? That love should ever be the expectation of matrimony is far too uncouth. Oh no, no, your pride must be greater than any true sense of prudence.” She couldn’t even bear to look at him, the mere click of his boots against the stone grating against the nerves of her long ears.

Of course he answered quickly and without hesitation — she could feel the coldness of his gaze all but freezing over the side of her face at which he stared. “It is. And I seeth not the impetus for petty romanticism in our case or any other. A vow is not made upon fickle whims of the heart, and if thou understood the weight of duty upon thy shoulders as much as mine, thou wouldst do well to carry thyself with decorum befitting a lady of thy fortunate station.”

She fumed. “You have done nothing to deserve my hand in marriage beyond everything our mothers decided between themselves! Do you dare imply—”

“Enough. I have faced dragons with a tamer tongue than thine.” Lord Drakanstein stopped cold, hands tucked behind his back as he loomed over her. “Thou art lowborn by blood and it matters not. Thou art rebellious and ungrateful — this too I tolerate. But cease thy belittlement of mine own willing sacrifice ere I silence thee with what words cannot.”

“Is that a threat to your future wife, Alfeaux?” She turned at last to face him, but soon wished that she hadn’t. His jaw was tightly set and his gaze sharp enough to make the tender skin of her cheeks prickle. Worse still, he let the silence that fell between them answer, as if challenging her to just try saying a word more.

And try she did. “You’re a dragon yourself, well and tr—!”

He advanced on her without warning, forcing her to stumble back against the unforgiving stone. Nor did he stop there, the cold metal of his gauntlets piercing through the finery of her bodice as he grasped her by the waist and slid her up to his eye-level. And there, with mere ilms between them, he glowered.  

She squeaked against his tight grip, head turned away but unable to tear her eyes from his. He took the opportunity to lean even closer, his lips very nearly brushing her ear.  

“As I suspected, thou art naught but a snail without its shell. How brazen will thy tongue be when I am thy lord and the only thing standing between thee and destitute misery? Is that the manner of selfish thought running through thy mind? Has it not yet occurred to thee that manners and tradition you so despise would save thee from the selfsame wrath thou bringeth upon thy head?” His hands squeezed tighter, enough to make her squirm without quite bruising her. Was it mercy or simply a taste of more to come?

“I... I-I...” She could scarcely breathe, though it wasn’t quite fear that stole it.

Just as quickly as he’d plucked her up, he set her down once more. She hadn’t quite gathered herself by the time his hand found her chin, forcing her gaze up toward him.

“I will have words with thee ere the sun sets tonight in the chapel. And thou shalt be there to convince me of the sincerity of thy duty or otherwise know the shame I have brought upon those who prove themselves my enemy.”

~

“I wonder what manner of piety toward the Fury he’ll engage her in. Ah, but you already know, don’t you, Swallow?” A head of fine blond hair turned downward to the woman who had long buried herself against his chest... and under the flap of his dress coat, and who might very well end up curled around his lap like a newborn pup.

He didn’t seem able to resist the bare patch of her neck that still remained, trailing two fingers down the curve of it to the tune of a shivering whimper. “No? But you’ve rendered these pages so lovely with use — why, I can practically make out fingerprints. Are you sure you don’t want to venture a guess?”

“Eek! Read! Just read it! Get it over with!” Her voice was muffled under the thick fabric of his coat, but no less pleasant for it. With just the smallest tease, a slip of his finger against her hot cheek, he encouraged her out from hiding just long enough to flash the bright blue of one eye up at him.  

And when he canted his head, watching ever-so-carefully, there was just the shyest hint of a smile upon her face.

[apothecaryave]

Teahouse Foibles

Everyone had their eccentricities, but for Aveline it was always a harrowing experience when one of hers went wrong. Polite by nature and forever guarding the secret that was her own feelings, it was surprisingly rare that she ever found herself in a situation where one might think her shy.  

After all, she could waitress a table with all the bright enthusiasm of a moogle and approach an uncouth gentleman harassing a lady without the slightest hesitation. When groups gathered, however, and the conversation managed to shine its light directly on her, the cracks in her façade would quickly appear. Why did anyone ever find the need to ask her personal questions, much less in public?  

“Ah, I think I smell smoke from the kitchen! I’d best go check.” Such had been her excuse in the lingering hours after another teahouse shift, and gods above, it failed completely! It was only minutes after she’d hidden herself away in the kitchen to let her cheeks cool when he came for her, firm and insistent that they talk.

And it was just outside, amid the Lavender Beds’ trees and florally perfumed air that he asked why she was upset. Her poor brain, already flustered to bits by her former embarrassment and the sudden romanticism of the moment, broke down completely. Caught up in her own foibles, she’d never imagined that her proclivity to flee a socially intensive scene would cause concern, much less offense!

It was in this way that he learned the sorry truth, the mark of solitude upon her forest-bound soul. Like a doe who remains tentative toward strangers even with the promise of a fresh lettuce leaf, there was something instinctive about her aversion to demonstrate any personal thought or emotion among strangers.  

He was kind enough to cure it with an embrace and a kiss, leading her back to the busy warmth of the teahouse with a gentle hand. For all the troubles love can bring in its misunderstood expressions, the one thing she could never fail to appreciate was the ballast of a gentlemanly companion amid a world full of prying eyes and blunt lips.

[apothecaryave]

Surviving a Civilized Table

There was no part of Hingan culture that perplexed Aveline more than chopsticks. The elegance of calligraphy and foreign characters inked upon silk and rice paper she could appreciate. All the flowing garments, from the long and colorful hanfu to the formfitting and sultry cheongsam had virtues that spoke for themselves. Even the complex modesty of polite culture had its delights to chew upon — being of an often quiet and composed individual herself, it wasn’t hard in the least to blend into a colorful background.

But then there were the chopsticks! Perhaps there was something more civilized about an imitation of fingers over stabbing one’s food with pointed tines, but Aveline ever struggled with them. Her love of cuisine brought her frequently to Hingan shops and similarly themed restaurants popping up along the Mists, but for all her visits she still hadn’t mastered the deceptively simple utensils.

It didn’t help that fancier establishments were prone to using polished wood or metal that was more slippery still than the regular wood she already struggled with. In a true fit of hunger and desperation, she might stab her food like a savage just to get the stuff into her mouth, or otherwise hope that none would see her pluck up a slice of radish between her fingers.

Thus, sushi was her one and only blessing in proper company. The delicious and varied dishes were ubiquitous at near any Hingan establishment and the child in her could enjoy the excuse to eat with her hands. After all, what wasn’t there to appreciate about the delicate softness in a roll of rice or the papery texture of seaweed wraps?

What did one do, however, in those rare instances where no sushi was available to save her? Or, when in a fit of pride and ignorance, she ordered something else with the misguided notion she could consume it politely? The merciful suggestion of a friend gave her the notion to ask for a spoon and slowly train herself between it and her chopsticks.  

And yet it was so much easier to simply ask to be fed — at least when she could swallow her pride. There was something delightfully intimate about the gesture, eating at the pace and mercy of another. And her companion, with that devilish gleam in his eye, was happy to oblige.  

[apothecaryave]

Lush La Noscea

The sun-kissed orchards of La Noscea were always a sight to behold. Though not quite as grand in scope as the white cliffs that lined the shore, the orchards had a quiet grandeur all their own. The air was drier here than one might expect for a bustling community of farmers, salt and dust peppering the air and clinging to one’s nose and boots.

It was precisely this dry heat that gave the ripe orchards a perfect backdrop for their aroma, the juicy sweetness of oranges filling the warm air with delicious promise. For a trifling price, one could easily gain access to the rocky, sprawling orchards and pluck as many fruits as one could fit into a box. There was nothing quite like sitting under the patchy shade of a ripe orange tree, eagerly peeling away for that first succulent bite of citrus delight.

Yes, what the bright, yellowed fields of La Noscea lacked in shade it more than made up for with a lushness of life, plants hardened by the heat and sparse water to produce some of the richest, most flavorful fruit that chefs around the world clamored to get hold of. If one headed toward the mountains ‘round Wineport, rocky soil would give way to timeless vineyards where the finest wines still flowed. Move further inland still and one would reach sprawling lakes and wetlands where tender rolanberries grew in the wild, full of a sweet vivacity one could find in no other cultivated specimen.

For all her foraging and herbal expeditions, Aveline could never move quickly through the landscape. It was far too inviting to sit awhile under the shade, indulging in a ripe bite of fruit. No matter the season, there was always something to enjoy, be it the prickly pineapples of Costa del Sol or the wild olives of Moraby Bay.  

Occasionally, when prone to wild bits of fancy and fantasy, she might even entertain the thought of leaving her shop altogether so she might take her bounty of fruit and vegetables and apprentice herself to Limsa Lominsa’s guild of Culnarians. What might it be like, stirring a pot of lobster bisque whilst gazing over the open sea? How rich the kukuru would smell, freshly ground before whipped into sweets and tarts for couples dining under the lantern light?

But alas, such thoughts were mere fantasy, and ere the afternoon kicked into its full glory, she was off again with her haul for the day to see it safely delivered to her humble apothecary.

[apothecaryave]

Of Moogles and Meadows

“I can still recall the first time I met a moogle. I was not yet eight summers old then, and prone to wandering away from the farm at every opportunity. My sense of adventure exasperated my mother to no end, as I was the only other feminine hand around the house to look after things whilst the boys worked the orchards. But the moment the dishes were done, the chocobos fed and the vegetable garden weeded, I was out to play beneath the trees of the Shroud.

“My brothers were hardly fit companions for my travels, being the rowdy sort who loved to tease me for my shy sensibilities. So I’d head off on my own with some pilfered snack from the kitchen — usually a slice of walnut bread or a corner of salmon pie.

“The quiet vistas I visited still remain close to my heart, dewy with wonder as I stared up at the massive branches spreading like webs over the sky. One creek in particular was my favorite to wander along, and at night one might even catch a glimpse of crystal shards glowing among the pebbles. Delicate buds of crested iris dipped into the water, their soft lavender hue bright against the overwhelming green we all dwelled in. T’was a road fit for faeries, and none would be surprised that young girl may be tempted to wander further and further along it until passing far beyond the safety of her village.

“One day the temptation of wild rolanberries drew me away from the stream, and as I ventured down that ripe meadow I found treasure after treasure to distract me — a fresh sprig of chicory here, a pebble of rose quartz there. Yes, I ever did love the scent of chicory, that rich aroma that smelled so much like the fancy coffees of adults who could afford the luxuries peddled by travelling merchants.

“It wasn’t until darkness started to fall that I began to realize I’d strayed too far from the path I’d known. I tried to fumble my way back, but darkness fell long before I found the stream leading me into that deep and sweetly secret meadow. With the true weight of solitude and helplessness upon me, I curled up in a patch of long grass and cried.

“T’was not long into my tears when a voice came at last, so guileless and mousy the surprise of it did not alarm me even in my frightened state. “Oh, I can’t take it anymore, kupo! Stop crying or I’ll start into the waterworks, too!”

“As it turned out, being the tricky and magical creatures moogles are, this particular fellow had been invisibly watching me play and fighting his better instinct not to join me in my innocent fun. When my despair had settled in, the kindness of his heart simply couldn’t bear to see a poor child suffer, or so he has told me since.

“The way he chided me, all while being adorable with his little arms and glowing pink pom, immediately brightened my wilting spirit. It wasn’t long before I puzzled him with my onset of mirth, and with my hand around his tiny paw, he led me back to the edge of the village.

“He’d told me then that I had to be more careful, that a helpful and brave moogle like himself surely wouldn’t be around a second time. Even in my youthful ignorance, however, I could tell there was a similar loneliness in him that had wandered him away from his own brothers and sisters. So, much to his dismay and delight, I returned to that meadow not a few days afterward despite all the scolding of my mother and father.

“No longer shy of my small hyuran presence, we danced and explored and wove flower bracelets together under the gentle afternoon suns. To this day, my heart often longs for that bright and innocent place where none but my gentle little friend and I wandered. The home of our childhood, after all, can be any place where the heart truly is.

[apothecaryave]

Panglossian Memories

Aveline had read her share of prose about the cruelly irresistible woman, the icon of promiscuity and dark delight that could make a man broke in a day. Oh, how poems loved to describe her beauty and rail against her wicked temptations, in equal parts obsessed with her pleasures and burning with hatred for her immutable hold over their authors!  

There was one man, however, about whom she could wax sympathetic with these lovelorn muses.

She could still feel the tingling warmth of his kiss, after all, as if the heat of his passion had singed that tender flesh and left it aching. The imprint of that last and desperate embrace was still on her delicate frame, her skin invisibly marked by long, loving fingers that hadn’t wanted to let go. For a moment, just a fleeting one, she’d been convinced he would stay. Despite the importance of all he had to do, despite the selfishness of wanting the whole of him for a day or longer, she’d thought he might indulge them.

But alas, he’d pulled away with that devilish gleam in his eye. Though his lingering touch described his own longing for her in great detail with every slip and squeeze, his delight in her puppy dog pouting was no less palpable. His voice had been near to a purr as he’d reassured her with the hot breakfast that awaited her, along with a warm bed she could return to — as if these things could substitute the pleasure of his company.

As she lay in their empty bed, cheek pressed to where his scent lingered on the pillow, she couldn’t help daydreaming about those Panglossian moments. If he had any faults, they were lost in the re-imagining, the ache of his absence softened just a touch by the tickle of his fingers through her hair and the sharp teases that had poked her sleepy mind awake.

If there was one thing she could say about the man (beyond the mindless praise she was prone to thrusting upon him when the passion between them was at its hottest), it was that he seemed to enjoy the messiness he imposed upon his partners and clients. Mussed hair and askew nightie straps, a sloppily drooped mouth and a squeak of surprise — he must prefer it because she was constantly in such a state during their time together and even afterward.

“Come home.” Aveline squeezed his pillow in her arms tighter, voice still scented with the sweet syrup of breakfast. “Gods, come home soon.”

[apothecaryave]

Fading Light

The border between Coerthas and The Black Shroud was always lovely during the change of seasons from warmth into the cold just before winter. Orchard trees grew heavy, their branches bent with apples, haricots, walnuts and cherries. There was no better time for fresh pies and vegetable soups, every dish rich with another generous bounty from Nophica herself.

It all added an extra layer of sumptuous to the picnic Aveline had made, warm ham and cheddar muffins to complement an earthy bowl of butternut squash soup. The walnut polvorones had also been a must, the melt-in-your-mouth, sugar coated pastries already making her fingers twitch with anticipation.

But sweeter still was her company, a finely dressed fellow who met every note of tall, dark and handsome. Though a creature of the sea, he had all the posture and mien of a gentleman, especially in the company of a softer woman. At some point, his fair elezen features had truly given into the corruption of the Void, sprouting scales along his skin along with features that would make any eye likely mistake him for a Xaela.

For one so broad-shouldered and accustomed to the blade, he never proved to be boring conversation, the deep gravel of his voice adding an extra edge to all his stories of where his ship had travelled. His large hands, too, were prone to wandering in interesting ways, and she found herself giggling more often than not as they wove their way through the trees and into a clearing.

How sweet, how fleeting these moments were! The warmth of the sun fading into the lull of an oncoming night, the brazen red and gold of the trees ere their leaves browned and fell. In time, the gruff and good humors of her captain would fade, too, leaving her alone once again as he travelled to distant climes and duties.

And so she pressed a kiss into his arm as she walked beside him, her fingers entwined in his. Time is never so precious as those moments just before a perfect day ends.

[apothecaryave]

A Study in Desire

How could she resist nuzzling at him while he worked? Despite the bet being her idea, and despite it being her inferior aim that had lost her the chance to reverse her situation, she couldn’t help demanding his attention at near every opportunity. After all, it got lonely dusting his considerably large library and she hadn’t quite worked out how his absurd machine of an oven worked.

And that was why she breathed in the warm cologne scenting his neck as her nose snuck under the collar of his shirt. To his credit, he was always gentle in return — well, most of the time. His might reach his hand back to stroke her hair and tease her ear with a light, ticklish slip of his thumb, or perhaps draw her closer with an arm around the small of her back before peppering her cheek with kisses. In those small, tender moments she couldn’t move, stuck in place by the addictive delight of his attentions.

But then those same attentions would end too soon, for he was a working man and in need of getting things done. His blueprints were impressive to behold, large and detailed diagrams of complex machinery she couldn’t begin to understand. Occasionally, she might glimpse a formula or calculation in his lab notebook that made some sense — typically refined metal or fuel components and some vaguely familiar bit of physics she’d barely grazed in her studies at the Alchemists’ Guild.

When she wasn’t preparing breakfast, tea, lunch or otherwise looking after his cozy estate (or pining for his attention), she found she had plenty of time herself to indulge in some form of lucubration. She’d been surprised to learn that he’d dabbled in alchemy to begin with, but the full genius of his ‘dabbling’ in it was apparent when she cracked open a bookmarked tome.

There was complex biochemistry within, after all, fascinating theories on aetheric infusion and its effects on organic material. For while alchemy had many scientific principles in its distillations and chemical reactions, the element of magic itself was an infusion capable of making so many impossible things possible. Turning poisons into mixtures that could heal a wound in a matter of seconds, grafting gems into wood to make the aether channeling tools of mages — and some even argued over alchemy’s potential to raise the dead or transform raw metals into gold.

It helped that his home was so cozy, so warm and inviting a place to pick up a book. She could curl up on a plush sofa in his library, a pretty cup of tea at her side as she fell into the pages of his books. There were bound to be a few other surprises beyond his alchemic quirk, and with a slow, welcoming afternoon before her there was all the time in the world to explore the world of his mind.