#F'lhaminn x Nashmeira

[theoreticalconstruct]

Heartfelt (FFXIV)

Title: Heartfelt Fandom: FFXIV Characters: Edmont/Nashmeira/F’lhaminn Summary: Edmont cannot go travel with his lady friends for the moment, but they always send him gifts.

Prompts: 100ships - #15 – Tea @polyamships - PolyamShippingDay - Gifts.

(Polyamshipping day is actually tomorrow so if you think you might want to create for it, check it out. Just posting early because I’m busy this week.)

(AO3 link)

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They would always send him gifts - small gifts, perhaps, but he knew that they came from the heart. 

Edmont sipped his spiced tea, pondering what he should write that morning. The tea was one of their gifts, sent to him from Nashmeira's homeland - he did not remember the name, but she had told him it was one of her favorites as a child. He certainly could not fault her tastes; it went surprisingly well with milk from the wild Coethran yaks.

The tea had been from Nashmeira; F'lhaminn had sent the biscuits. A family favorite, she'd said in her last note... and Edmont knew enough of her tale to know what that meant. He smiled slightly, dipping the cookie into his tea before taking a bite.

He would have liked to see the city with them, one day. But while Artoriel was doing well thus far as acting count, he needed to stay there to guide him in these difficult times. So for the moment he could only enjoy their gifts, and know that he was in their thoughts.

F'lhaminn's songs and Nashmeira's dances... they were both balm for his old, tired soul. Edmont did not know what he could contribute, not when his own musical skills were so rusty. Perhaps he should take some time to practice on the violin before he had the opportunity to see them again. It had been a very long time, but perhaps he could remember well enough to surprise them.

Someday, he thought as he lifted his pen, his son would no longer need his guidance. Perhaps he would be free to travel with them as Nashmeira's troupe continued to tour their wartorn world, trying to heal the wounds. Could he truly be of aid in such a noble endeavor? Perhaps not - but perhaps he could at least be of help in supporting them. He had never hoped to have such warmth and love to look forward to, not in the winter of his life, and he wanted to prove himself worthy of it.

[autumnslance]

Thavnairian Nights!!! (The name intrigues me)

WIP Ask Game:  Post the names of files in your WIP folder, regardless of how  non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title  that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell  them something about it! and then tag as many people as you like.  

Also requested by @elveny and @earthlystar!

Sadly(?) it’s not very “Arabian Nights” like. At least not the famous Sheherazade part. It’s a working title to remind me which fic it is; who knows if it’ll change!

This actually got backburnered because of the FanFest Showcase and the announcement we’re finally going to Radz-at-Han; I was originally working on this for Femslash February--a first for me, but I was fiddling with a F’lhaminn/Nashmeira fic, set when our Songstress and her self-appointed bodyguards fled Eorzea at the end of A Realm Reborn and ended up in Thavnair where, as we learn in the Dancer quest chain, Lhaminn met a certain troupe principal and became fast enough friends they have endearments and familiar nicknames for each other.

F’lhaminn’s been holding onto Nielle’s memory for years and it seems she doesn’t let many close. But the Banquet’s consequences have had lasting repercussions for the Scions, and far from home and full of fear for her loved ones, she needed some understanding and comfort.

I don’t think it was a passionate romance; they’re both too practical, and F’lhaminn always meant to go home as soon as they knew it was safe--or as soon as Hoary and Coultenet felt strong enough themselves to do something about the situation (hence their undertaking the Trials of the Braves while there).

However, now Nashmeira is in Eorzea and has handed the reins of Troupe Falsiam to her protege, and F’lhaminn’s using her contacts and connections to aid the dancer in her teaching others the kriegstanz and perform while seeking out the corruption the Dancers fight, so...perhaps these two ladies will find more time for one another as well.

But now I kinda want to wait until we see Radz-at-Han and can explore it and know more about Thavnair for realsies instead of me making more things up! I only had a few scenes drafted and various note outlines in between, mostly from Lhaminn’s POV and starting with getting off the ship until the day the trio of Scions leave to return to Eorzea.

Excerpt under the cut:

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“You’re not alone, F’lhaminn,” Nashmeira said, voice softer than usual. F’lhaminn turned to debate that, but the words faded as she met Nashmeira’s intense gaze. Nashmeira smiled and raised a hand, fingertips gently brushing F’lhaminn’s cheek. “Not while I’m here.”

Like a pair of Ironworks magnets they leaned closer, Nashmeira’s hand sliding back into F’lhaminn’s hair as their foreheads touched. “Call me Lhaminn,” she whispered.

“If you call me Meira,” the other woman replied in kind.

“Yes,” F’lhaminn answered, just before their lips connected.

The kiss was soft and careful, full of warmth and reassurance that left her dizzier than any other since…

Menphina help her, since her Nielle.

In the many years since losing him, there had been only a singular handful of times F’lhaminn had given into her loneliness, her body’s wants. They had all been rushed, desperate moments. Some had only been interested in the Songstress. Some, even unaware of who she used to be, had been more interested in sating their own desires.

Meira understood being seen as an object, not a woman. She understood loss, and the loneliness of life, and the need for understanding from another. To receive as much as one gave. She felt like the softness of rose petals, tasted like the berry wine they had sipped earlier in the evening.

The cautious kiss ended, eyes opening to gaze at one another until their breaths began again. F’lhaminn sighed and rested her head on Meira’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around the dancer’s waist. Meira’s fingers carded through F’lhaminn’s hair, other hand gently stroking up and down her back. They simply sat for some time.

“Thank you,” F’lhaminn began. “You know I cannot stay.”

“Your daughter and the Scions need you,” Meira replied, her usual matter of factness tempered in this moment. “But for now, you are here with me, and that is enough, dear Lhaminn.”

They held one another for awhile longer, until by silent agreement they rose and made their way through the rooftop door again, hands clasped, as Meira drew F’lhaminn along to her room.

The principal’s chamber was as practical as the woman herself, despite the sumptuous decor in the lower levels of the building. Veiled drapes hung around the room, keeping out insects and affording some hazy privacy while allowing air to flow through the muggy nights. Silky pillows piled on the low bed, thick rugs protected bare feet from the cold, hard floor.

There was no rush as they shucked their house slippers and put aside their glasses, taking turns washing their faces in the elegant basin sink. Not much more was said; it was comfortably quiet, considerate requests and answers, a few light laughs. A kiss pressed to the nape of a neck as a bodice was unlaced, fingertips sliding over bared shoulders after unhooking a chemise. The sheets were turned down, the lights put out as they embraced, close despite the warmth of the night.