#and i realized i really like the lighting in fortemps manor

[berrydoodleoo]

should you begin to lose heart, look to me

(rendered in Blender Cycles, click for higher resolution)

[redwayfarers]

(you) restless son

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Minfilia Warde (mentioned) Rating: Mature (direct references to sex, though the scene is fade to black) Words: 1795 Spoilers: Heavensward spoilers read on ao3

Nika’s visits to Ishgard have been few and far between recently, but every time he does go there, he makes sure to go straight to the Fortemps manor. It’s become something of a home, if you can count the presence of the few people he’s bonded with in this whole frozen hellhole. He hasn’t had a home in a long while, least of all in a person. It’s a strange feeling and something entirely too tender for Nika’s harsh hands, but it settled under his skin and it’s not going anywhere. 

He can’t complain all that much, really, when it affords him unlimited access to Artoirel. He likes Emmanellain just fine, and Edmont makes for a nice dinner buddy when he isn’t being a horrible parent to his sons.  But Artoirel is the heart of that whole oversized house for Nika; it’s his face rising amidst everyone else that makes his shoulders relax and his jaw unclench. When did he clench his jaw so much anyway? And more importantly, why is he noticing that? 

No matter. What matters is that time after he settles in his room, after he eats dinner, or lunch, or whenever he happened to burst upon their door like a cannonball, when he and Artoirel go to the grand salon with the big piano, drinks in hand, and find comfortable places on one of the couches. What matters is the way Artoirel loosens his collar, opens his throat up a little, and Nika can’t help but look at the way it bobs ever so slightly under his gaze. 

“Do I have something on my… throat?” Artoirel asks, confused, red in the face, and Nika looks at the glass in his hand. 

“No,” he says and rubs the side of his neck. “I just think you look better without the cravat.” 

“Such are the fashions of Ishgard, Nika.” 

“Fuck the fashions of Ishgard, Artoirel.” Nika looks at his own shirt, open at the front, and the length of his white boots. Artoirel follows suit; his eyes linger on the exposed skin of Nika’s chest. “Some of them, anyway.” 

“Not all of us can make that shirt look good,” Artoirel comments quietly. “You and Lord Stephanivien, perhaps. As for myself? The cravates are that much presentable.”

“Bah, you’re too prim and proper.” Nika puts a foot down. The heels echo in the otherwise silent room like a battle trumpet. It may be the drink he’s had, but his next words come out offensively shamelessly. “I like the way your collarbones look.” 

Artoirel huffs amicably and shakes his head. “You may look at them as you please, then,” he replies, though his voice is colored by something Nika doesn’t dare name. 

“Thank you for the permission.” Nika says as he downs the rest of his drink and pours himself another glass. “I will now proceed to indulge myself. At the grand piano, of course. Why would we go in the grand salon if not to play the fucking piano?” 

“I did want to show you a composition I have been working on in my leisure time,” Artoirel says. He sounds almost uncertain, half the size he usually is on the battlefield, or in the political arena of Ishgard. “What?” 

“You’re afraid I’m gonna hate it or something? Is that why you sound like you’re a kid meeting your idol for the first time?” 

Artoirel laughs in disbelief. “Nika, do you realize even an inkling of what weight your opinion carries? You are the Warrior of Light, the slayer of Nidhogg. You rode into Ishgard on a dragon - the first individual to have done so in history. You are one of Eorzea’s best living bards. Compared to you, I am but playing pretend.”  

Nika blinks. “Didn’t wanna be that hero you bring up,” he says. “If it was up to me, I’d be playing my little lute and singing about other people. But no, Minfilia had to use my arrow shooting prowess to kill a primal or two and now here I am.” The thought sticks to his skin even though he vehemently tries shaking it away. His heart aches for Minfilia still; the love he’s nursed for her feeds into his bloodstream. His knees will forever ache from kneeling at her feet, and the memories of her soft voice and gentle smiles and kind eyes will nurse them back to health. 

But recently, in the midst of all the grief he wears around his neck like a collar, he’s found it in himself to be angry at her. Angry she didn’t stop sending him when he asked her to. Angry she kissed his tears away only to send him off to his potential death afterwards. Angry she never told him, no, stop loving me, not until she fucking died and stayed in the aether, and he had to go see fucking Hydaelyn herself just so he could hear it. 

Artoirel does nothing of the sort. If anything, Nika feels like he’s stringing him along, pulling at his heart that wants nothing more than Nika’s presence. Artoirel never asked him to be the hero. Everything since he’s arrived in Ishgard has been Nika’s choice. Any hurt he feels about that shit he can lay at his own feet and use it to cut open his heart again. 

Nika drowns the entirety of his glass in one chug. “You give yourself too little credit,” he says. “Too fucking little.” He curls a hand around Artoirel’s slender shoulders to run his fingers over those biteable collarbones.

“Nika,” Artoirel goes to stand up just as Nika’s hand bends around his shoulders, and the height difference makes Nika take a step forward and his hand slides down to Artoirel’s waist. He holds it anyway. 

“Let’s go play the piano,” Nika says. His voice is gruff, stuffed to the brim with need and anger and yearning and the drunkenness of the whiskey and the warmth of Artoirel’s skin. “Let’s go play the fucking piano or I’m pinning you down on these overpriced floor covers.” 

Artoirel’s mouth opens and the tips of his ears burn bright red. His hand folds in a fist and he tries to look down, avoid Nika’s eyes, but the fact he’s tall as all fuck bites him in the ass so hard that he just ends up looking where he didn’t want to. Or did he want to? He shifts his body closer to Nika’s, hip to waist, and Nika’s fingers play over his shirt. 

“There’s a story,” he says. “I know of someone who supposedly had sex with her lovers in her grand salon and over the piano, specifically. That poor piano, I’d thought. Of course, I don’t normally follow that kind of rumor, but I’d overheard it and it stayed with me.” 

“Piano sex? What happened to walls, floors, or even good old fashioned beds?” Nika feels his face burn. Must be the drink, he thinks, even if he has to admit that Artoirel’s words are only making whatever need that’s already been here stronger. He doesn’t even know what Artoirel’s lips feel like, but he does know he wants to kiss them, and that Artoirel wants to kiss him too. 

It’s just never been this direct! Nika blames the whiskey, the open shirt, those delicious looking collarbones, Minfilia’s memory, Ishgard itself. He knows what it feels like - Estinien’s hands on his skin are a refreshed memory - but this is Artoirel; his Artoirel, the way Minfilia was never his, his to spend time with, his to kiss, his to enjoy, his to listen to him laugh. His to make Nika’s heart beat and warm up faster than any fire would. 

“I suppose she has had enough of those options by that point,” Artoirel shrugs, but his cheeks are still red, his hair’s in disarray, his lips are slightly parted, thin and pink, and those fucking collarbones are still taunting Nika like it’s their one job. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Nika replies, as if that makes any sense to the prior conversation. “And I want to kiss you so, so badly.” 

“I would very much like to kiss you too,” Artoirel replies, holding onto the edges of his self-control. Nika can feel his fingers ghost over the skin of his jaw and takes a deep breath not to groan from the way it sends sparks down his spine. The knowledge Artoirel wants him just as badly, right now, makes his belly tighten. “May I?” 

“Yes,” Nika breathes and Artoirel’s facing him, tall, relaxed, hair a dark halo around his head. His eyes are impossibly wide, impossibly big, and Nika rises on his tip toes and wraps himself around Artoirel’s body, like he was made to be here. Maybe he was. Maybe he was made to share breath with Artoirel de Fortemps for torturously long moments before their lips meet, maybe he was made to bury his fingers in his hair and pull him down on the couch. His body soars and he’s shaking with need and his heart beats wildly in his chest. 

And when their tongues touch, Nika claws at Artoirel’s back. I’m going to fuck this man tonight, he thinks, and it feels brash and crude but he can’t help himself. Artoirel moans into the kiss, and it only serves to make Nika’s skin even tighter. 

“I wanna fuck you,” Nika says between kisses, pulls on Artoirel’s hair. “Stop me if you need to, fuck, Artoirel, I want to bite your chest, and I want to make you feel good, I want–” 

“Yes,” Artoirel breathes out. His body’s shaking beneath Nika’s touch and Nika peppers his face with small kisses. “I want that too–” 

“Glad we agree,” Nika replies and steals the rest of his sentence in a deep kiss. Artoirel’s hand wraps around Nika’s waist but Nika uses the leverage to drag him beneath him and settle on his hips. From this angle, he looks even better. A prim and proper lord, commander of men, count de Fortemps, beneath him, already hard, messy from kisses, and Nika can’t help but groan. It’s not like he’s any better himself. He then leans down and kisses him softly, the way he never got to kiss Minfilia. 

But she isn’t here, is she? It’s just him and Artoirel, alive, in the flesh. And it’s an aching flesh, and Nika wants to kiss it senseless, and he wants to keep him close, keep him warm, safe, wants to make him happy and make him laugh. 

“Artoirel,” Nika says, because he can’t say anything else. And Artoirel kisses him back, presses his hands against Nika’s back, and somehow, he feels like he got the message just fine. 

Just like that, the rest of the world falls away.

[clockworkcrane]

Haurchefant Week 2023

Day Two: Habitual 1201 words. Rated T for whatever nerd/jock flirting is happening here and some innuendo. Nothing too spicy.

There is comfort in ritual.

Haurchefant’s nightly training sessions did not come about by necessity. They did not stem from an unquenchable urge to practice his swordplay, nor from a sense of duty, nor from any dedication to perfecting the art of combat. They began with a frequent desire to get himself as far from Fortemps manor as possible. This was usually no farther than the courtyard, and there was little else to do once there besides pick up a practice sword and exert himself.

Embarrassed as he is now by the fact, he pushed himself at first only to break free from the confines of his home, the awkward stares, and the uncomfortable half-conversations with his father. It was merely his good fortune that it required such a significant push. He’d found purpose in knighthood, in serving his house. He’d found peace. Joy, even. And with it, a sense of belonging that had been notably absent through adolescence.

The surliness of youth diminished over time, but the habit remained; even now at eight-and-twenty, he takes to the yard well after sundown each day. He strikes at straw-stuffed training dummies with the ardency of a fresh recruit. He finds his rhythm somewhere between strike and parry; the glide of a riposte; the extra beat along the measure that is a well-timed feint. He fights until his arms ache with effort and sweat drips down his neck. Then he returns inside for a late supper and a long bath. Customarily.

Tonight is different. Before he can open the door to the intercessory, it swings outward, bringing him face to face with an unexpected hitch in the plan. But not an unpleasant one. When he realizes who he’s bumped into, Haurchefant can only smile.

“Aramond, my friend,” he greets.

The Warrior of Light looks equally surprised to find him on the other side of the threshold. “Oh, good evening. I hadn’t thought anyone else to be about.”

“It is rather late,” Haurchefant agrees, with a pointed look.

“Indeed.” Aramond adjusts his spectacles, which Haurchefant has come to understand as a show of nervousness. “I was only… ah, it was a foolish notion, really. I should return to my chambers.”

“Have you eaten?” Haurchefant prompts, surprising even himself. He finds so few excuses to pass the time at the Warrior of Light’s side, however, and he is reluctant to let this one slip by unchallenged.

Aramond shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Haurchefant only notices because he’s been taught to. That subtle lean forward is an engagement. En garde.

“I haven’t,” Aramond admits.

“Neither have I,” Haurchefant says. “It would not be my first midnight raid of the larders. Shall we rummage something to eat?”

It’s a rare smile that comes over the Warrior of Light’s face so easily. “Very well. Let’s.”

They scavenge through the kitchens in the dead of night like a pair of thieves, even though Haurchefant’s command allows him free rein of the fort as he pleases. There is something reminiscent of his childhood escapades with Francel in the act; a ritual not as time-honored as his late-night bouts of training, but no less special. He and Aramond hide away in the intercessory with a small banquet they’ve foraged, and Haurchefant puts the kettle on for tea.

That is done purely with the Warrior of Light’s tastes in mind. The stuff is far too bitter for his own liking.

The moment Aramond gets his hands around a steaming cup, Haurchefant can see the tension in his shoulders unspooling like thread plucked from a loom. At ease. He seats himself across from the Warrior of Light and reaches for a hunk of knight’s bread, which he stuffs unceremoniously into his mouth.

“I have a confession,” Aramond says, after a long sip of tea.

“Mm?” Haurchefant asks, trying to swallow before remembering to chew. Thankfully, Aramond does not seem to notice.

“I could not sleep,” he continues. “I’m accustomed to a certain set of… I suppose you’d call them rituals. I had not realized how heavily I’d come to rely on them, but it seems I grow restless if they’re not done.”

Thinking of his recent endeavors in the yard, Haurchefant nods. “I understand completely.”

He expects the Warrior of Light to elaborate, but he does not. He merely lifts his cup to his lips once more, inhales deeply, and drinks. He is more guarded than Haurchefant. More guarded than he needs to be. But Haurchefant does not wish to feint or lunge to crack through those defenses. Familiarity can be allowed to bloom in increments, such as learning how a friend takes his tea. All secrets need not be laid bare between them; he is satisfied enough knowing this small thing which brings Aramond some comfort, and to be permitted to take part.

“Swordplay,” he offers, grinning bashfully when Aramond only blinks at him in response. “My nighttime ritual, I mean to say. Though it may be quite unlike your own, you are most welcome to join me at it sometime.”

The Warrior of Light sets his cup down on the table, smiling. “We are perhaps more alike than you imagine. I had thought to use the space in the yard to practice stances.”

“Stances?” Haurchefant repeats, perking up.

Aramond drums his fingers against the table, his gaze lowering. “Erm, casting stances, yes. There is a school of thaumaturgy dedicated entirely to balance of form, you know. At the guild in Ul’dah, it was not uncommon to see new initiates wavering on a tightrope, attempting to channel umbral forces without bruising their—ehm.”

He trails off, placing a hand to his mouth, as though wary of having said too much. Haurchefant, who has never witnessed the Warrior of Light exhibit any semblance of sheepishness, has to take another bite of bread to keep himself from laughing. He chews thoughtfully, tamping down his amusement.

“It sounds rather thrilling,” he says finally, trying very hard not to imagine the Warrior of Light tumbling from a tightrope.

“Only if one is bad at it,” Aramond replies, giving a small huff of laughter himself. “I was not. Though I fear if I do endeavor to join you, you may find my prowess with a blade somewhat lacking in comparison.”

“An exchange, then,” Haurchefant proposes, brightening. “As we are both in the habit of nightly exercise, perhaps I could teach you something of the blade and you could teach me your… stances.”

Aramond considers this for a moment as Haurchefant beams at the brilliance of his own plan. At last, with a certain fondness in his gaze, the Warrior of Light nods. Céder.

“It sounds a pleasant diversion,” he agrees. “So long as you do not mind a few bruises.”

“It should be no fun otherwise,” Haurchefant says, clapping his hands together. “It is settled, then. Sparring practice at sundown tomorrow. A new ritual for the both of us.”

Aramond lifts his tea into the air in a parody of a toast. “To us, then.”

Haurchefant holds up the remaining half of the bread loaf, tapping it against the side of Aramond’s cup. This makes the Warrior of Light snort in amusement, which in turn causes Haurchefant to grin.

“To us.”

[miss-tc-nova]

Oblivious S/O - Estinien, Haurchefant

I am SOOOOOO sorry this took so long! Life. That’s really all I’ve got.

Anyway, I don’t think this has quite the same vibe as the last one, but I had fun, so thanks for the request!

~~~~~

Flirting with an Oblivious S/O

Estinien:

Never, in his life, has hunting something been so frustrating.

In the beginning, the dragoon denied he could ever feel such an emotion. You know, like a liar.

But Tataru and Krile knew better and, once they terrorized him into realizing his feelings, he tried acting on them.

Oh poor, poor Estinien. You would not make this easy for him.

It began pretty normal, actually, which is already pushing it for Estinien.

Starting conversations with you rather than waiting for you to come to him was his first obstacle but it became much easier when he realized it came with a hit of satisfaction.

Fighting his impulse to go out on his own was next. Rather than take everything on solo, Estinien began inviting you to join him on his missions, or volunteering to go with you on yours.

Trinkets from his travels, acts of kindness, all those usual stops in flirting get pulled—which is really impressive for the introvert.

Not that you would know.

One time, he even placed a kiss on top of your head. Your smile struck him harder than any attack ever had.

Scratch that. You telling him that you “didn’t realize you were such close friends” hurt more.

The Scions were watching. Pity and amusement on each and every face.

It’s kind of impressive he didn’t just explode right there.

Already starting to get frustrated, the elezen let the lalafellin women talk him into going a step further.

Aymeric who had been brought into the loop via Tataru extended an invitation to the annual Ishgardian founding festival ball to Estinien. Plus one.

He hated it. Loathed it. But if it would get his intentions across, he’d try it.

Throughout the day, Estinien stayed at your side, even daring to take your hand through most of it. Too bad his big mouth told you he “didn’t want you to get lost” which you took at face value.

He shared with you his favorite Ishgardian foods, offering bites from his own spoon/fork for you to taste.

For the ball, Aymeric had the perfect clothes prepared for the two of you at Tataru’s instruction mostly so the dragoon wouldn’t try to show up in his armor in an attempt to claim it was formal. They even matched.

You had a good time enjoying the show, laughing, dancing.

Hoping to help his friend, Aymeric confided in you that he’d never seen Estinien dance and that probably no one but you ever could get him to.

The response? “Really? I wonder why.”

That’s when Aymeric fully understood the behemoth undertaking Estinien had gotten himself into.

“My condolences, my friend.” “Shut up.”

Well, the ball was a bust. So Estinien has nearly resigned himself spending the rest of his days in the pursuit of a prize he’ll never catch.

Except those wing-lalas are having none of that.

Fine. A Hail-Halone then I tried okay.

“Alright, I concede that I’m no scholar myself, but surely an incredible warrior, that can take down even the smallest of beasts with such incredible precision, cannot be this dense. Yes, I’m talking about you. What do you mean what am I talking about? Has everything I’ve done truly gone over your head? For Twelve’s sake. I-…I…Forget it.”

Oooo. So close.

 Haurchefant:

With Haurchefant, if not today, then maybe tomorrow.

You haven’t told him no, so this giant sweetheart isn’t giving up hope until he has an answer.

Too bad it’s going to be a long time before he gets one.

Smitten nearly the moment he laid eyes on you, he simply couldn’t help himself when he started fighting for your favor.

Of course, it began with helping your and your allies. That’s not the only reason; he has his morals, but there’s no denying that it at least put him in a more favorable light.

Once you started staying at Fortemps Manor, Count Edmont distinctly notes his son’s more frequent visits.

Haurchefant personally shows you around Ishgard, pointing out all his favorite places and the best views of even things you thought mundane. He knows how to make everything seem amazing.

And he has no qualms taking you by the hand to show you to the next incredible site.

There’s no shortage of laughter in his presence. You two spend hours talking of adventures and feats, a smile always on his face.

Alternatively, sparring. He gets to spend time with you AND test his skills against a famed hero. Bonuses all around for Haurchefant.

Then he starts saying things in a more forward tone.

You think it’s a joke when he calls your “darling.”

He knows you don’t quite get it, but he can’t deny his heart melts when you call him “dear” in return.

It makes him fantasize about domestic life. He’s such a dreamer.

All manner of flatteries are thrown your way, some roaming towards the more personal subjects.

But hey, close friends can talk about ANYTHING right?

Nothing perverse though. He’s not a heathen.

Think “Are your lips as kissable as they look?”

By the way, no matter what the answer is to that question, he will offer to find out for you. And he will 100 percent do it if you accept.

And that kiss will overflow with all the passion he can muster.

But you’re probably too preoccupied with the result of his “findings.”

He has been present while you changed before.

Though there was a partition to separate the two of you so nothing naughty there.

No matter how this plays out, Haurchefant will basically act as if you’re already dating.

Hand holding or an arm around your waist.

Farewell and greeting kisses.

Pet names.

Dates.

All of it.

He does keep himself honest though, should anyone ask.

And when it leaves them baffled, he simply laughs it off and promises to make his love see the light one day.

While Count Edmont was quite impressed with you and would even approve, your lack of acknowledgement of his son’s feelings give him apprehension.

But Haurchefant’s happy.

Not like Edmont could really do much anyway.

What’s he gonna do?

“Please turn down my son’s constant affection for you that you are clearly unaware of.”

Yeah right.

Really, Haurchefant’s like the star’s cutest puppy.

A greedy puppy who will take every onze of affection he can get, but a puppy nonetheless.

But nothing makes him happier than the prospect of a sweet, little domestic life with you.

“There you are, my darling. How has your day been? Oh really? Too bad I couldn’t have been there to keep you company. Why? Because I want to be by your side. Always. Eh…Haha. Yes, then I suppose we both would have been bored.”

 Not for the feint of heart:

In the days following the events of the Vault, it seems every passing soul offers you their condolences.

It’s baffling.

He was Edmont’s son.

Emmanellain and Artoirel’s brother.

Why were you getting all the consolation?

Why were these people laying all the grief of his passing on you?

Mortified at your continued confusion, it’s the youngest brother who finally spills everything.

Haurchefant loved you.

You knew that.

He was your closest friend.

“No! He was in love with you!”

Then, as you’re in the midst of your realization, it feels like the world was crumbling around you.

It all made sense. Everything.

You ran.

Straight out of Ishgard.

Past Camp Dragonhead.

West of the Steel Vigil.

The cold sears into your cheeks, chasing the trails left by tears.

You curse yourself.

You curse everyone around you.

If they weren’t going to tell you when he was still alive, they should’ve just kept their mouths shut.

Even ignorance is less painful than this.

If only you’d realized sooner.

[shera-dnd]

Love for a Dark Heart

Adding now to the list of things I can’t fucking believe I got paid to write: My FFXIV character falling in love with herself.

Honestly I could have kept writing this for another 5k words more, but I set the rules so I’m gonna stick to them

As usual you can follow this link right here to read it on AO3 if you’d prefer that. If you’d like to have a fic written by me you should feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules for donations over here) and let’s get going with the fic

You are a rational woman.

You try to deal with the facts and not let emotion rule over your decisions. That doesn’t mean you’re cold hearted or any such thing, but when it comes to wielding aether you really cannot let your emotions get in the way, lest your magic escape your control entirely.

It’s why you joined the Arcanists Guild so long ago, their approach to spell craft was exactly what you needed, and after many long months of training you had even mastered the lost art of summoning. It had been your calculated and well crafted spells that had felled the Primals and even bested Gaius and his Ultima Weapon.

But what did that amount to?

You’ve been betrayed, the Sultana is dead, your friends are lost, and the nations you fought to defend probably have a price on your head by now. All your possessions now fit neatly into the tiny backpack you brought along in your journey to Ishgard, and the only people left to console you are Alphinaud and Tataru, but in all honesty you’re usually the one consoling them now.

But Ishgard still welcomes you and still needs you. House Fortemps has embraced you and the least you can do is fight to protect them as well. Just keep fighting and saving people until everything gets solved, it definitely worked just fine the first time you tried that, so why not try it again?

You don’t want to be bitter, you don’t want to be angry, you genuinely feel sorry whenever you snap at Alphinaud or Haurchefant, you know they’re having a hard time too. Still it is so hard not to just let that frustration fester in your heart.

One day you’re walking the streets of Ishgard, trying to work the anger out of your system, when you hear a man muttering something. It was a story about a man who fought like a beast, who wielded the Darkness like other men would wield a blade. Something about this story sparks your curiosity and next thing you know you’re pressing the man for details.

It seemed your mystery man had died in battle with the holy knights of Ishgard and his corpse had been dumped in the Brume. It was unfortunate, but mayhaps you could still find his corpse, maybe even his soulstone.

You weren’t thinking of wielding the darkness, were you? No, it was simply academic curiosity. You just couldn’t leave such a thing unstudied, right? Of course. Now to make your way to the Brume.

No pulse, no breathing, skin as cold as the snow around you, that man was a corpse. At least he was a corpse with a soulstone, maybe you could study that. You just have to take it and-

A voice calls for you in the dark.

You wake up confused, but still intact. Better yet, the man you thought dead was now alive and well in front of you. His name is Fray and he was a Dark Knight. Apparently so were you now.

Perhaps embracing the dark should have been difficult, it should have been the kind of decision you pondered over and considered all the pros and cons. It wasn’t supposed to be something you did on a whim, but in reality it was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You were stronger now. How else could you wield a weapon so massive? How else could those knights strike you with their blades and barely make you flinch? How else could you take all that anger, and frustration that you had repressed for so long, and give it such a beautiful shape as it cut down those hallowed bastards? 

It felt good.

It felt too good.

Perhaps the life of a Dark Knight was exactly what you needed.

In the weeks that passed no one questioned why you disappeared every night or where you went. You had gone through a lot, and they just wanted to give you space to heal. Besides, who would question what the Warrior of Light did with her spare time? It almost made you feel bad for what you were doing.

Almost.

It was hard feeling bad now that you have started studying the Darkness. No, studying would imply a lot more research and controlled tests. What you were doing was more like exercising it, working out a muscle you didn’t know you had until now. If that meant killing your fair share of monsters then so be it.

Especially when working that metaphorical muscle also seemed to improve your physical ones. Even your eye sight seemed to have improved somehow. With time your tunic had been replaced by plate armor, your glasses by a full helmet, your book of spells by the biggest sword you could carry.

There were still hiccups when adapting to this new life as a Dark Knight. No matter how many times you attuned yourself to the Darkness you could only ever hear whispers of that voice in the dark that had once called your name. It worried you, and frustrated Fray to no end.

Frustration seemed to be Fray’s default state. Always furious at the people around you who insist on asking you to fix all their problems, ready to throw threats and insults any time someone so much as  thought of interrupting you. You try to be nice, you try to de-escalate, to help those people anyway, but you know deep down that you agree with her.

Her? Wasn’t Fray a man?

Doesn’t matter, Fray can use whatever pronouns she wants. You just can’t remember her ever telling you she changed those. 

Wait did she just mention fighting Leviathan? Had she been there with you on that ship? Surely you’d remember that.

Why hadn’t she mentioned that before?

Maybe if you still saw the world through your old scholarly lens, maybe if you still distanced yourself, studied the situation, maybe then you would have realized what was happening. You really can’t help but feel a little stupid when the truth finally reveals itself.

When Fray takes off her helmet it is your face that you see, your eyes that stare into yours, your voice that challenges you. She was your Darkness, your repressed rage against those who used you again, and again to suit their needs; your frustrations with this world that would exhaust you to the bone before finding any solution that didn’t involve you, your need for someone to just step up and care for you even once.

If only she hadn’t hurt those people, if only her first answer wasn’t to just draw her sword on those she saw as a threat to you, maybe then you’d let her go.

Your swords clash and ultimately she’s the one to fall. Your Darkness, your heart, your…

...Esteem, lies defeated before you and you don’t know how to feel. She was a monster formed from the deepest abyss, yet when you hear her declare that she will always be there for you, if only you were to call her, you can’t help but feel hope.

It was only after you exposed yourself to just about every guard, and soldier at Dragon Head that you decided that it’s about time you came clean to your friends.

Alphinaud and Haurchefant didn’t understand why you had made the decisions you had, but they couldn’t think of anyone better to wield such a power. Tataru trusted you with her life and just a bit of Darkness wouldn’t get in the way of that. Estinien claimed that he understood, that he too struggled against the evil that granted him his powers. In the end it all felt too easy, too unearned.

Still, there was a nation to save and a war to stop. Your little existential crisis would have to wait. You could almost hear Esteem screaming at you for ever forming that thought. 

Soon it wouldn’t be just almost.

Weeks passed as you traversed Dravania, searching for a way to stop this war. For a moment you had hoped that by exposing the lies of Ishgardian nobility you would finally put an end to this, but of course that just led the holy men of Halone to do what they thought was right, which just happened to be capturing and torturing an innocent man.

You went in to try to save a man, to make those self appointed saints pay. You didn’t go there to lose a friend, yet that’s what you did.

You kept your composure long enough to reach your private chambers in the Fortemps manor, but as soon as the door closed behind you, you collapsed. You could have saved him, you could have prevented this, you could have jumped out of the way, or pushed him away, or just done anything.

But you didn’t, and now he paid the price for it.

What a pathetic excuse for a Warrior of Light you are.

“You’re no such thing!” A familiar voice calls. You don’t know when or how you summoned her back, but there she was.

Esteem lifted you from the ground and laid you in your bed. You noticed now that instead of the black armor she had favored in your fight, now she wore one of your old robes and your old glasses. It was almost funny thinking of a being of pure aether deigning to wear glasses for some reason.

With a gentleness you didn’t know either of you had, she caressed and soothed you as she repeated those same words over and over again, “it wasn’t your fault.”

It felt pathetic to only have a shadow of yourself to care for you, but for now it didn’t matter. All you could do in that moment was cling, cling to the kind words and the soft touch of the only person who cared enough to offer, and try as hard as you can to believe in what she’s saying.

“Rest now, you fool,” she asked, her voice just as gentle as before.

“Please stay,” you pleaded, unsure if she would disappear the moment you closed your eyes.

It was a selfish thing to ask, to force her to stay in the material world simply for your own comfort, but Esteem wanted nothing more than for you to be selfish, so there was never any doubt that she would oblige.

The next morning she was still there, asleep somehow, still holding you in her arms. It shamed you to admit that this was the closest you’ve ever been to another person. No one had held you this close, no one had ever let you fall asleep in their arms - or fallen asleep in yours for what that matters - had she been more than just a piece of your own heart, perhaps you would have found reason for embarrassment.

There was certainly some strangeness to it, of course. Waking up in your own arms and seeing your own face in the morning was as surreal an experience as you could imagine right now. Though it did allow you some interesting introspection. You shifted in bed a little, trying to get a good look at your own face, wondering if you had ever looked this peaceful before.

“If you even consider rising from this bed I promise you the Archbishop will be the least of your worries,” she grumbles without even opening her eyes.

“I did not know you could sleep,” you comment.

“Neither did I,” she replies. She pushes herself into a sitting position, having completely given up on the idea of returning to your shared slumber, “if I must be honest, I don’t even know how I was granted physical form once more.”

“Yet your first response to sudden corporealization was not to question it, but to attend to the sobbing mess on the floor,” you are by no means attempting to mock her, it simply sounds odd to you.

“What am I to say?” She jested, “I’m quite fond of that sobbing mess.”

At that you averted your gaze. It felt embarrassing somehow, to have someone declare their fondness so bluntly, even if that someone wasn’t an actual person.

“Have we truly grown so alienated from affection?” She sighs, her voice a mix of worry and disappointment.

You motion to protest, but a knock on the door interrupts you both. With a gesture, she requests you stay in bed while she handles this. That may be the worst idea you have ever heard, but you’re far too tired to protest.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake and well,” Alphinaud greets her cheerfully, “If you’re disposed, I’d like to ask-”

“I’m not,” She interrupts, “now, you may be on your way.”

The poor boy is too stunned to reply, and does nothing to stop her from slamming the door on his face. A smug smirk forms on her face as she strides back to you.

“Must you be so rude to all my friends?” You say as you glare at her.

“Must you put the needs of every last soul above your own well being?” She shot back, matching your stare.

You’re the one to break the stare first, “I’ll try not to.”

She nods and gives you a satisfied smile as she sits next to you, “now do try to rest. Wouldn’t want me to be rude to poor Alphinaud for naught.”

In the weeks that followed she had been ever by your side. Like your old summons she could effortlessly appear and disappear from thin air, combined with her nature as a being of pure aether it made you suspect you had somehow called upon an egi of Esteem’s former self. This was promptly disproven by the fact that her response to any direct commands was a simple and direct, “sod off!”

By all accounts she should simply be darkness aspected aether, given shape and purpose by your needs and desires, as unreal as Ysayle’s false Shiva. Yet here she was, talking when she wanted to, sleeping when she wanted to, eating when she wanted to--seven hells she even has different tastes than you. There was no other way around it, Esteem had become her own person somehow.

Part of you worried that you had somehow created a Primal of your own heart. That had now been buried under the far more substantial worry that you have been utterly mistreating an actual person with thoughts and feelings, who had done nothing but help you and care for you for weeks. This in turn had been buried under the mess of feelings that struck your heart at the fact that this woman had held you in your sleep for weeks now. Mayhaps you should just focus on hitting things with big swords for now.

On that angle things have been a lot simpler. Your preparations for the journey to Azys Lla were now almost concluded, and as you waited for Master Cid to finish his work you took your time to aid a fellow Dark Knight by the name of Sidurgu.

That man quite proudly embodied the mass of hate and anger you expected from a Dark Knight, a trait that seemed to invoke Esteem’s disdain and earn him quite a share of her unkindly remarks. Neither his emotional state nor her opinion of him were ever aided by the fact that you surpassed him with ease.

You may have stumbled onto this power like a blind fool, but it had somehow suited you with a natural ease that eluded your companion. It was in the pursuit of more power - under the guise of aiding a young girl that Sidurgu had taken under his wing - that you found yourself once more doing menial tasks for moogles. At least today you’d have the catharsis of beating them within an ilm of their lives for it.

What you did not expect was for them to burst into song and dance afterwards.

“‘Tis love! ‘Tis love!” They profess with their tiny voices, “all-powerful, shining love!”

Suffice to say that the both of you were completely befuddled by the performance - Esteem loudly laughing in the corner she carved for herself in your mind - had Rielle, your shared charge, not appeared in that moment you were sure you’d both sit like that for an hour.

It was only as you made your way back to Ishgard that Sidurgu took you aside to talk about what had unfolded. He mocked the idea that love could be the true power of Darkness, but you could see that sharp edge on his voice begin to dull ever so slightly.

A year ago you would have been just as dismissive of such an idea, to properly channel aether you require coldly calculated theorems, not something as nebulous as love. 

Yet here you are. You’ve wielded anger and frustration like weapons for months now, why can’t you wear love like an armor?

You loved your friends and that gave you strength.

You loved Eorzea and that gave you strength.

You loved yourself and that…

...Well, did you really love yourself that much? Not as much as you should if Esteem were to be believed, but she does. She loves you, and that gives you strength.

It’s with this context that you begin to notice the little things she does, even when she’s not around. The gentle touches, the kind words, the worry in her eyes after a rough fight. It had been her love that helped you strike down with your blade, it had been her love that held you up when an enemy would fell you. It made you oh so keenly aware of her heartbeat - surprisingly human and comforting - next to yours as she held you both together.

Had you loved her too this whole time?

Perhaps you should have questioned this before the worries of facing Garleans, Ascians, and the Archbishop, loomed this close in the horizon. Perhaps you should have questioned that Esteem’s love didn’t come just from some magically ordained purpose. Perhaps you should have questioned what it meant about you that you so willingly accepted and reciprocated that love.

By the time you arrive at the Fortemps manor that night, you have already made your decision and you find her in your room, reading a spicy romance novel from Emmanellain’s secret stash. Steeling yourself in a way you hadn’t done since facing Ultima, you approach her and bring your lips to hers. It was a fleeting touch, but it had the whole of you buzzing with nervous energy.

With the most detestably smug smile, she brings you close again so she may kiss you back and, as if she hadn’t just shaken your very soul with that act, returned to her reading.

You stare at her, utterly confounded by her lack of any real reaction. It takes her a moment to realize you are still staring and the words that escaped her mouth would infuriate and haunt you for the rest of your existence.

“Was I wrong to assume we’d been lovers for at least a month now?”

Perhaps you really should have just stuck to hitting people with big swords.

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day One: Exchange

Masterpost -- Day Two

The day had started out rather well. The usual overcast weather that covered Ishgard had prompted Lara and Roger to suggest a day inside Fortemps manor with warm drinks and stories. While there was plenty that he could have been doing elsewise, the two had coerced Alphinaud into joining them. He’d told himself it would be a brief interlude, but as the clock chimed the passing of morning into the noon he’d found himself enjoying this rare moment of leisure.

He’d finished regaling the other teens with a story about an incident occurring on his and Alisaie’s nameday when Roger had blinked and looked to Lara. “You know I never thought to ask...when is your nameday?” 

She’d looked confused and told him. There had then been a stillness as Roger’s already large green eyes widened further. 

“That’s my nameday too!” Before Alphinaud could interject that many people shared namedays, Roger further exclaimed, “And it passed just before we met! Why didn’t you tell me??”

“I didn’t even think about it…” Lara’s own dark blue eyes were also round with realization. “The echo shared a lot about us to each other, but it didn’t show everything...” She’d trailed off with an odd expression. Roger mirrored it.

Then, suddenly, the two had left their mugs on the drawing room table and stood. They moved quickly enough that anyone else could have thought that they had rehearsed it. 

“I’ve got to go do something.” “I need to take care of something.”

Lara and Roger had said over each other as the two left as if being chased by dragons. Leaving Alphinaud behind and very confused.

Now here he was, braving the cold of Ishgard’s city to find out just what in the world was happening with the Warriors of Light. Someone had to, so it might as well be him. 

It didn’t take long for Alphinaud to find someone who would be willing to talk to someone still considered an outsider (not even going into the results of the heretic trial). After all, Lord Haurchefant Greystone was considered something of an outcast himself. “Ah, young Alphinaud! Good to see you!” He called out with far enough enthusiasm to draw the attention of passersby. They turned away just as quickly, which was expected of the folk of the Pillars.

“Good to see you as well, Haurchefant,” Alphinaud gave a nod, though it was still odd to address the commander so informally. The widened smile on the man’s face indicated that he approved.

“Are you also on a quest to find a gift for Roger, or is it something else? Lara seemed in quite a hurry when she spoke with me.”

Well that answered the question that he didn’t even need to ask. “No, I was actually about to question you about where they’d both gone. We had been chatting when something came to mind in both Roger and Lara and they had rushed off. I suppose if Lara was looking for a gift for Roger, then he must be doing the same for her.”

Haurchefant barked a laugh, which drew temporary attention again. “You know, I think you’re right young Alphinaud! Those two do seem to be of one mind more often than not! Almost like twins if I didn’t know any better.” 

Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Alphinaud gave another nod. “Indeed. But back to the topic at hand; did you have a suggestion for her?”

“Alas I did not.” The commander sighed and folded his arms. “While I’ve been blessed to have assisted and been assisted by Lara and Roger, I’m afraid I’ve spent far less time with them individually. ‘Tis a shame, for their lives are most fascinating. Just hearing your story of how you came to be on my doorstep is almost nothing compared to the one I participated in. And mine had such complex twists and turns as it stood! Think of what they’ll accomplish next!”

Alphinaud suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

It didn’t take much for the man to sing the praises of the Warriors of Light. While this trait was invaluable for helping himself, Roger, Lara and Tataru to be invited to the Holy See, after a while such enthusiasm was a tad...tedious. Not that either of the Warriors of Light had ever indicated that they felt the same. In fact, they seemed to flourish under the attention of their practically-adopted older brother. Half a wonder that Lara had gone to him first for ideas.

Thankful for all of the lessons in diplomacy that he had been forced to learn, Alphinaud hid his annoyance behind a polite smile. “I’m certain the Warriors of Light will surprise us yet. Although at the moment I was wondering where Lara had gone off to after she spoke with you.” 

Remembering himself, Haurchefant cleared his throat. It didn’t do much to hide the embarrassed flush on the elezen’s cheeks. “Right. I suggested she try talking to Tataru. I may also not know much about her, but she seems to be the industrious type. Perhaps try there?”

Industrious was one way of describing the lallafel, but the idea was quite sound. If anyone was around that could feasibly suggest gift ideas, it would be Tataru Taru. Alphinaud nodded and made to leave with the standard farewell when the commander offered, “Are you sure you don’t wish for me to join you?”

“I will be quite well, thank you.” Alphinaud answered quickly as he left.

------

“Sorry, you just missed’m! Both of them!” 

“Drat,” Alphinaud said under his breath. 

The Forgotten Knight was as busy as the tavern ever was. People were wandering in from the snow flurries that were steadily falling from the grey skies, looking for warm food and company. One could almost forget that Ishgard was cut off from the rest of Eorzea for how crowded the place felt. Thankfully the corner that he and Tataru were chatting in was relatively clear even as people came and went. 

“Aw, you don’t have to be so worried about them. You know Lara and Roger can handle themselves!” The lalafell woman patted his hand, her small legs dangling from the elezen-sized stool she’d sat in. 

“I’m not worried about them in that sense,” He protested. “Even separate, those two are far more capable than many groups of warriors I’ve encountered.”

Tataru opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it while biting her lip. He didn’t have to guess at what she had decided not to bring up.

“Yes, the Crystal Braves can be included in that. If I hadn’t been so foolish then they couldn’t have been--” A thick slice of bread inserted in his mouth cut off his sentence. Tataru huffed and clapped crumbs off of her hands while he took the piece out and coughed.

“No. We’re not going to do that right now. We’re talking about Roger and Lara, not your guilt. You are worried about your friends so I’m not going to hide what I know. But. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault and that you’re not being blamed for.” She levelled a violet glare at him. “So. If you want to know what they’re up to, you’re not going to go on about how you could’ve changed things with the Crystal Braves. Okay?” 

Alphinaud was once again feeling left behind and confused, but in a different way than had happened earlier that day. He’d just wanted to know what the Warriors of Light had been doing. When had his own emotions gotten in the way of finding that out? It hadn’t even been at the forefront of his mind, and yet his guilt had been summoned unconsciously. He turned the hard slice of bread over in his hands as he mulled over the offer. After a beat, he sighed. “Very well, I agree.” 

As if the sun had come out from the clouds (as rare as such an occurrence was in Ishgard), Tataru beamed and spoke as if she hadn’t just told off the boy. He chewed on the part of the bread that had already been in his mouth while she chattered on. “WELL, first Roger came to me asking if I knew what Lara liked to eat so I asked why and he said he was getting her a late nameday gift so of course I offered to help. I sent him on his way to the markets and talked to a few folk in the tavern about places to find rare herbs, so by the time Lara came in asking for gift ideas for Roger I already knew where to send her so that I could help with the cooking while she was away!” Tataru spread her arms wide, her fingers splaying out and shaking in a theatrical fashion. “So! If you want to find gifts for them, they should be fairly occupied until the end of the day.”

He swallowed the last of the bread before he spoke. “Where is Roger practicing his cooking?” He didn’t need to answer her about potential gift giving, after all.

“Oh he’s in the kitchens here. I have someone making sure he doesn’t burn anything important.”

“I see…” His eyes slid to the door towards the room in question.

The apprehension must have been apparent because Tataru retorted, “He can’t burn anything yet, he’s still got to mix ingredients and such.” She openly rolled her eyes when he looked back at her.

“You make it sound as if he might burn down the whole tavern.”

“He won’t! Probably. Hopefully.” She was suddenly nervous, pulling at the ends of her sleeves. “...I’ll...go see how he’s doing. In the meantime, think about what I said. About all of that.” The lalafell then hopped off the stool and made her way into the back.

Alphinaud let the surrounding conversation wash over him as he thought. After some time, he got up from his seat and made his way out. He’d made a decision and he was going to follow through with it.

-----

“You really didn’t have to find these for me!” Roger exclaimed as he examined the variety of plant life that had been neatly tied together with a red ribbon. 

It was just past supper, and the teens plus Haurchefant and Tataru had retired to the drawing room of Fortemps manor. As soon as everyone had sat down, Lara had shoved the green bundle in her best friend’s direction and he’d fumbled but kept his grip on it. Tataru had clapped happily at the sight. Harchefant’s face seemed to be stuck in a proud smile.

Alphinaud was no expert on botany, but he was fairly certain that the shrubs and flowers had been picked more for their looks than their usefulness. Still, Roger looked at them as if they were rare ingredients. Lara relaxed her nervous stance at the sight of his appreciation. 

“I know, but I wanted to find something useful and it was the best thing I could think of at the time. Now that I know when your nameday is, I’m going to blow you away with a proper present next year.” She grinned. 

Now it was Roger’s turn to fidget in his seat. “W-well. I hope you like this too.” From his pocket came a small paper bag, fastened with a green ribbon. The paper had a flower pattern printed on it. Lara gently took the bag and pulled until the ribbon came undone. In the middle were a handful of cookies. The bottoms were slightly burnt and the size of them were inconsistent. “I-I know you like to cook but I wanted to try to make your something and Tataru suggested honey cookies and it was way harder than I thought so you don’t have to eat them but--” Before the poor boy could nervously ramble on, she had already picked up the top cookie and taken a bite.

The whole room held its breath as Lara closed her eyes and chewed. After what felt like ages, she swallowed and smiled at Roger. “These are pretty good! Between Tataru and I, we’ll make a culinarian out of you yet!”

It took only a moment for the two to fall into fits of giggles, and for the adults in the room to join them. Alphinaud took that distraction to stand and head towards Lara and Roger. When they had recovered a little, he presented them both a small plain blue box. “‘Tis equally late for your actual nameday as what you’ve already exchanged. I’ll do my best to have something better by your next one.”

Wearing similar expressions of confusion, the two opened up the boxes. Inside were identical sketches of Lara and Roger, happily chatting with one another. The quality was such that one could be mistaken in thinking that they were directly copied off of another work, though obviously no paintings had been made of the two. Roger and Lara stared at each other, then to the drawings, then to Alphinaud in a cycle. “It’s rough, but if you wish I can touch it up at a later date. I was hard pressed for time, muchlike you both were and--”

All of a sudden he was sandwiched between Lara and Roger in a warm embrace. Alphinaud could feel his face and pointed ears turning scarlet as the oblivious Warriors of Light started complimenting his work. “I didn’t know you could draw!” “What do you mean that it’s rough, it’s amazing!” “I need to find a place to hang it--oh wait maybe I could get it framed??” “This is the best nameday present ever!” He was too flustered to respond, much less pay attention to who was speaking. 

He’d forgotten how physically affectionate Lara and Roger could be. At least this was a more embarrassing than fatal mistake.

Through the press of bodies he spotted a grinning Tataru elbowing a chuckling Haurchefant. Nevermind, he was going to expire right here in front of everyone.

He desperately hoped that Alisaie wouldn’t hear a word about this.

[efrmellifer]

Devoir

Etien’s entire face screwed up as the linkpearl’s distinctive chime greeted her ear.

“Do you remember when I used to complain about sleeping in sand? I’d sleep in sand if it meant I got to lie down and stay down. Hmm, Aymeric? Aymeric?” She pawed at the empty spot of mattress next to her. “Oh for the love of the Fury.”

At last, she remembered what had woken her, and opened the line. “Yes?” She was silent, eyes bouncing between spots on the wall across from her as she listened to the voice on the other end.

“Yes. I’ll be there.” The line closed, and Etien sighed. “Well, I knew it was going to end eventually.”

She rose from bed then, coming first to Landric’s cradle, cooing to him as she laid a hand on his stomach. “Oh, little man, you’ve been so quiet. Picking up Estinien’s stoicism already, is that it?”

Bundling him against her chest in one arm, she laid the other hand on Betula. “Betula,” she sang. When the bright green eyes popped open, Etien smiled. “Good morning, sweet pea.”

It was easier now, to trundle the twins up and into her arms to begin the morning’s tasks. First, their change, then cooking—to start with, food for herself, then a lunch for Aymeric.

It was the best way to ensure he ate, stopping by the Congregation and handing the box over.

Plus, the cooking gave her a chance to slot one or the other of the children into a sling across her body and let them nurse.

It usually worked pretty well, that one of them was full and asleep again by the time she was changing between what she was cooking, so she just eased them out and into a little crib in the corner, then got the other to eat while she kept at it on the stove.

The whole process for carrying them with her outside the home was more ridiculous-looking, even when it made just as much sense.

They slept side by side against her chest in a specially-designed carrier, draped under a fur-lined cloak so she could keep them and herself warm when she entered the chilly air of Ishgard.

She almost wished she'd been raising them in the Black Shroud, but then that would cause her to have dark, depressing wonderings about a life that could have been.

So no. She preferred keeping Betula and Landric draped in furs to stay warm, because that meant she was here, safe and warm and happy. And so, so loved.

She walked slowly, so as not to jostle and wake the babies, and made her way down the steps to Foundation that were just outside the manor’s door. Of course, it was a longer walk through the Brume, then, but she hoped the rhythm of her footsteps and her low hum kept her children soothed as she traversed the stones of their home.

“You’re going to visit your Da,” she whispered, “won’t that be fun?”

Etien was such a fixture in the Congregation now (and really, hadn’t she been for four years?) that she was waved directly to the door that led to Aymeric’s office, and let in right away, barring anything especially severe going on within beforehand.

So when the door clicked shut behind her, Aymeric looked up, and seeing that she wasn’t in distress, turned back to his work for a moment to complete his thought.

“Ah, the whole family came along,” he noted when he saw the thick drape over Etien.

“Well, not quite. In a funny twist, I was about to tell you—I think we’re going to need Estinien. Which means, Tataru’s been scouring for him extra-hard, and despite my not saying a peep about where he’s been, she’s about to hit Ishgardian permafrost pay-dirt.”

Aymeric rested his chin on his hand, chuckling. “After he tried so hard.”

“They found him once, they threatened that they would do it again. The Scions are people of their word, unfortunately.”

“Their? Not our?”

Etien shrugged, unbuttoning the shoulder of the cloak, but letting it hang on her still. “Am I a Scion?”

“You look like today you’re playing the role of Culinarian,” Aymeric remarked, gesturing to the parcel in her hand, its binding string clutched tight in her middle finger.

“Oh, this? I wanted to make sure you ate. In any event, the Scions are coming for hide and hair of the Azure Dragoon Emeritus, and I’m… needed at the Rising Stones. So I’m taking Betula and Landric to Toto and the Aldynns’ for the day. I figure you can pick them up tonight, if I’m not back?”

“Of course, my dearest.”

She smiled, laying down the box, then left Aymeric’s office.

It was with a heart just slightly heavy that Etien handed the infants over, but the care with which Toto took them eased the burden slightly.

Etien had known this day was coming, but now that it was here… she was just glad that she had family that would be able to help her with it. Maybe the yoke was only on her shoulders, but at least someone else was able to man the plow, metaphorically speaking.

She kissed Betula’s forehead, then Landric’s. “Be good for Aunt Toto,” she told them, “and then for your Da.” She looked up from them then. “Thank you, Toto. I… wish it wasn’t like this.”

They shared a look, and then Etien left, the points of her teeth sinking into her lip so she didn’t start crying.

She stood in front of the mirror as she dressed, watching as if it were someone else pulling up her tights and fastening the garters—Estinien had never commented, but look, now she wore garters—doing up the busks on her corset, buckling her belt. She smiled as she settled the crown of preserved flowers on her head—magicked to give her additional protection—and it was only halfway forced. She was happy to be wearing her battle gear again, and she had always felt a sense of pride in what she had long been calling “her colors.” The weren’t the Ishgardian colors of which Nanamo had spoken, which had been a Fortemps knight’s armor. They weren’t an Adder uniform, a Temple Knight’s regalia. They were the clothing of Etien Mellifer, Hydaelyn’s Champion and Scion of the Seventh Dawn. She guessed.

Warrior of Light, Bringer of Darkness. Amatrix et Bellatrix.

She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders back as she settled her new bow between them.

It was a quick journey by aether between Ishgard and the Ala Mhigan Quarter, and it hadn’t left her enough time to reason when she entered the Alliance Meeting that it was, in fact, the Alliance. All of them.

“G’raha, sit across from the Lord Commander, would you?” Thancred asked.

Etien snorted, sitting to G’raha’s right, scooting in close to the table and then sighing when she realized that no matter how far she stretched her legs under it, the toe of her boot wouldn’t come into contact with Aymeric’s sabatons.

She already knew that, but the disappointment washed over her anew every time she tried.

Instead, she crossed her arms and sat back, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Not this time, either?” he asked her.

“Never,” she replied, deflating. “But that’s okay, I can always be the one to bring the tea around.” She winked, and Y’shtola snapped to get her attention.

With a huff, she leaned on the table, looking toward Urianger.

Aymeric hung around afterward, close to but not quite shadowing Etien while she talked to the other Scions.

Their greetings to her were remarkably understated, considering it had been months since they’d last seen her, but he tried not to be offended on her behalf. She was all business, stood with a hip cocked as they talked about what to do next, now that Lunar Bahamut had wreaked havoc in Ala Mhigo and now was doing much the same with the dragons of Meracydia.

He tipped his head in curiosity as Etien leaned into the gesture of answering her linkpearl, stepping back to get out of her way as she walked toward him, until she reached out with her free hand and took hold of his coat, holding him still.

He laid an arm around her back as she rested against him racked with… snickering? She covered her mouth as the corners of her eyes crinkled, and then she sobered up, letting go of Aymeric’s coat and responding to Tataru.

“Yes, if you just caught wind of him headed that way, then we’ll have to get there before he can set off again. Thank you for the update.”

Aymeric’s eyebrows rose as he finally met Etien’s eyes.

Estinien, she mouthed, “they’ve found him, apparently. Heading to Ishgard.”

“Wasn’t he just—?”

She shushed him. “We know that.”

They turned toward each other to hide the laughter that pealed through them.

Alphinaud came to their sides just as they’d collected themselves again, instructing Etien to tell Tataru to send the Bonanza to Ishgard, in case they had to chase down Estinien.

Silly little Scions. If only they knew how to properly convince him.

Then again, they couldn’t ask so nicely as she could, could they?

Still, Alphinaud was already walking off, ready to go, so Etien sighed. She turned back to Aymeric. “I go in search of our third half. I imagine I’ll beat you to Ishgard, and be run off my feet, so…” She looked around, her ears tipping back to hear if anyone important was behind her before she stepped closer to Aymeric. Her tail flicked back and forth once, twice, before she pounced to press a kiss to his lips, taking him utterly by surprise. “I’ll see you later, darling,” she said when her heels had hit the stones again.

And with the glimmer of aether as she finished her incantation, she was gone.

_

Etien shook her head as she entered the Congregation again.

“Hello, Lucia,” she said said with a tired exhale. “Have you seen Estinien?”

“We were not aware he had returned to Ishgard,” she replied. “But as I expect you remember, he is wont to come and go as he pleases.”

“Oh, none know it better than I, save one,” Etien remarked, already heading back to the door. “Thank you anyroad.”

That left the others a little time to find him while she went to the airship landing, at least.

So she was surprised to find them all waiting there already.

“Did you find him?”

Alisaie was the first to admit that none of them had had any luck.

When G’raha commented that he expected more excitement for the return of the Azure Dragoon, Etien bit her lip to stay silent.

Eventually she got out a noncommittal “these are odd times.”

The sound of footsteps, marked with a familiar jingle of armor saved her from having to elaborate, so she looked up, already smiling up at him.

She was so happy to see him. Even if it hadn’t been as long for her as it was others.

Her eyes were slowly widening as some mix of the Coerthan air and shock froze her in place as she watched him attempt to ruffle Alisaie’s hair, telling her that it had been too long… Alphinaud.

Oh no.

She didn’t even have time to form her rebuttal to the idea that she had been teaching “Alphinaud” to be strong and silent, she was so busy trying to make sure she would stay rooted to her spot when Alisaie went more explosive than Magitek cannons.

Etien’s eyes were starting to freeze around the edges from how wide open they were.

But she blinked and gave a sheepish smile when Estinien turned to her, asking pointedly for an explanation.

Alisaie stepped closer, watching Etien as she gazed at Estinien and Alphinaud talking.

“Maybe he sees them—Estinien and Arenvald—as the brothers he never had,” Etien replied to Alisaie’s story about how Alphinaud refused to make friends with other boys.

“It hasn’t been easy being his sister,” Alisaie huffed.

Etien hummed. “Hmm. Aye, but it’s never easy being a sibling, is it?”

_

On the airship to Azys Lla, they stayed in small clusters; Alphinaud, Alisaie, and G’raha all stood together toward the back, while Etien and Estinien stood side by side nearer to the bow, the wind lifting the ends of their hair as they went.

“Are they...easy to tell apart?” Estinien whispered, leaning down to speak directly into Etien’s swiveling ear, so he could be heard over the wind.

She laughed aloud then, the sound carrying all the way to the stern.

“I think they are, but I’ve spent far more time with them. With bothof them. If nothing else, you have their earrings to go by. Or weapons, on the battlefield. If the Leveilleur you’re looking at has a sword, it’s Alisaie. And she’ll use it on you if you don’t get it right.”

Estinien chuckled. “I shall defer to your extensive experience and will not try it for myself.”

Azys Lla wasn’t far off now, so they grew somber again, preparing for what they had to do there.

_

It would be hard for Etien’s heart to soften further toward the First Brood orEstinien, but when he said that he felt at least somewhat responsible for Tiamat’s welfare, seeing as Nidhogg was part of him… she did feel something shift for the gentler.

She wished he’d done the same as he talked to her, but that just wouldn’t be Estinien, would it?

No matter. They learned of the Bahamut that came before his calamitous return, and Tiamat wasn’t tempered anymore.

There was—and Etien figured that she shouldn’t have been surprised, at this stage in the game—more to be done. More for her to do.

To Paglth’an they went, by way of Ul’dah.

_

When Aymeric had heard that the Scion contingent had indeed tracked down Estinien, and that they had gone from Azys Lla to Ul’dah, he wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. But he knew what that meant. Worse, he was moments from heading the same way himself.

He too had offered his apologies to Toto, and told his children to be good for their aunt.

But now, it was time to clear a path for the Warrior of Light and her helpers.

He offered his prayers to Halone for guidance, and set out, Lucia at his side.

_

There was hardly time to sight-see, when she was fighting Magitekand Meracydian dragons, but Etien remembered this had once been home to a dear friend of hers. Like the verdant beauty of Alder Springs did to Etien, these fields may have evoked a heart-aching nostalgia. So she tried to tread lightly as she ran headlong into fulfilling her duty. Stopping the havoc being wreaked on these lands, eliminating the threat of Lunar Bahamut.

When she thought about it, there was a poetic tragedy to the places he had laid waste to so far, to the sorrow it must have left, but she put it out of her mind. That wasn’t her song to sing.

She winced, her attempts to walk softly abated without her say-so when she’d skidded to a stop in shock.

She hadn’t expected to see himhere. But she was a woman now, with obligations past just seeingthe morrow, and at least one of the three of them needed to make it out of there. So she simply gasped, rather than calling out.

It was safer that way.

Maybe Aymeric wouldn’t even know she was here.

But that wasn’t to be. They simply knew these things, it seemed. It had been the same in Ghimlyt. They had found each other then, too.

He stayed close, not so close that he would get in Etien’s way (she did have such an odd dance with her bow, when she was really lost to it), but near enough to her that he had managed to keep her safe, to distract the imperial soldier that had been bearing down on her too fast for her to run from.

And when they, and Estinien, and their comrades had cleared the area, Aymeric turned to tend to the wounded on the edges of the pathway.

“Go!” He’d called to Etien, seeing her pause out of the corner of his eye. “I will see them to safety. You’re needed elsewhere.”

He heard her come to her knees next to him more than he saw it, though he felt it just as quickly, when her hand came to rest on his arm.

“If anything happens to you or Estinien,” she began, swallowing. He could see her heart thudding just under her necklace, the pendants leaping with every beat. “If anything happens, Fandaniel won’t need to wait for Zenos to kill him.”

She stood up, her boots crunching in the sand and shrapnel around them, and started running after Thancred.

Ever dutiful, even when her body cried out otherwise. He sighed, hoisting the injured soldier up, arm over his shoulders.

It wasn’t him, him or Estinien, that she needed to worry about. He watched her, bright blue and bronze in the twilight, growing smaller the further she got away from him.

Growing smaller as she went to where was needed… away from where he needed her.

[sylviazem]

FFXIV Write 2021: #25- Silver Lining

“Elvide...people are staring...”

“-So let them stare,” Elvide held Emma’s hand firmly to encourage her. “You’re incredibly beautiful, after all.”

Sure enough, when the pair stepped into the Fortemps manor, all eyes were on them. The crowd was all whispers and bewildered exclamations as they walked.

“Emma, I hate to say it, but I need to leave you alone for the moment. Do you think you can handle it?”

“-I’ll be fine...I think,” She replied nervously. She hadn’t been at such a large social gathering in years, not to mention one with so many nobles attending.

Elvide placed her hands on Emma’s cheeks and pulled her down for a kiss. “If you feel like you need to go outside, don’t think twice about it, all right? You don’t need to push yourself for my sake, I know this must be so stressful for you.”

“-I’ll be fine, really,” She pushed Elvide away softly and smiled. “Go do your thing.”

Once Elvide was off mingling with the other guests, Emma could suddenly hear the whispers of the crowd louder than before. She’s so beautiful...What is she though? Did she really get invited? Who is she? She came with that strange, energetic lady, didn’t she?

Did they really let a half-dragon in?

She discreetly stole away from the crowd into an empty room nearby and took a few deep breaths. It’s fine. It’s only natural they would think like that. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To help them realize people like me are normal now.

“Excuse me, my lady,” To her surprise, it appeared someone followed her into the room without her noticing. The soft voice belonged to an older man, dark of hair. “You arrived with...Lady Elvide Pamisoloux, am I correct?”

“-Ah, yes. That’s right.”

“Oh, but forgive me, where are my manners,” He bowed courteously. “I am lord Edmont de Fortemps, the host of this gathering. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Emma quickly bowed herself in a panic. “M-my lord, forgive me, I did not realize-”

“No need for apologies, my good woman,” He replied with a soft laugh. “A lord I may be, but we should all strive for equality, should we not?”

He walked past her and sat down on a chair. Emma, despite the seemingly relaxed attitude of the lord towards her, was tense. She had never expected to be talking face to face with someone with such high status.

“Forgive me for pointing out, but...your body. Dragon blood corruption, I take it?”

“-...Y-yes, my lord.”

“It’s not an unfamiliar sight to me at this point. In fact, it reminded me of her.”

“-Her, my lord?”

“The Warrior of Light. The one who helped finally bring the bloody war to a close. She was truly a silver lining in the hardest of times for our city.”

“-...The Warrior of Light...has a tail like mine..?”

“Indeed!” He laughed heartily. “It’s the one thing people seem to forget to mention about her.” He stood up and faced Emma.

“I didn’t get your name yet, did I, young lady?”

“-Oh, it’s...Emma, my lord.”

“A lovely name. Lady Emma, I’m sure things in the city for people like you will become better soon enough,” He offered his hand for a shake. “I promise I will do all in my power to see it so. If our nation is to truly recover, we must welcome all our brothers and sisters with open arms. No matter their unfortunate circumstances.”

Emma shook his hand hesitantly. “T-thank you, my lord. That...means a lot.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Once more he bowed, and was off to talk with the other guests. Emma felt a little more at ease now and followed him out of the room and back into the crowd.

Instead of turning away when people looked at her, she now responded with a warm smile.

[antiloquist]

A Gentleman Asks, Rather Than Does - Chapter One

Time to actually officially crosspost this here since someone’s been poking around my AO3 and I had to change my password. Limiting myself to one a day as to not spam.

Summary: The Warrior of Light calls Hildibrand out on his bluff regarding his knowledge of ‘the fairer sex’ and teaches him a thing or two about courting a lady. So begins the dramatic courtship of Hildibrand and the Warrior of Light. Fluff abound, idiocy guaranteed. Hildibrand/Female, non-Lala WoL. Sorry Lala lovers, I couldn’t figure out the height difference.

Fic as a whole is rated E for spice. True spice begins chapter 9.

CW for plot points in later chapters including stalking and implied/referenced assault.

Chapter One: WoL acts on a whim. Mild spice. Rated M.

In hindsight, you should have realized things were going far too smoothly to be true to form. Not once during the course of any of your investigations with this motley crew had everything fallen into place like this. Something was bound to happen; the other shoe had to drop.

And so it did.

It dropped in the form of sudden inclement weather. Upon attempting to charter a way to the Western Highlands, you and your party were informed that all travel to and from Ishgard was suspended for the day or so due to an incoming blizzard, effective about five minutes before you arrived at the gate.

 So much for simple.

Defeated for now, you slunk your way back to the gazebo. It was time to plan, and Idyllshire would have to wait.

“WhAt Do We Do NoW, pApA hIlDy?” Gigi asked, large inquisitive eyes turning to his ‘father’.

Hildibrand twisted his hips and pressed his fingers to his temples before seemingly coming up with a brilliant idea. “Ah! Is it not obvious? We merely wait out the storm here and continue on with our brilliant plans when the skies clear!”

Well, yes. That much was obvious. But wait-

“You… you aren’t seriously planning to sit out a blizzard out here, are you?” you asked, glancing around for any other voices of reason. Cyr and Julyan were nowhere to be seen; perhaps they’d made it out of the city before the lockdown.

Hildibrand raised a practically non-existent eyebrow in response. “Whyever not? This is a perfectly fine gazebo!”

“The inspector and I have been through way worse, back before Dalamud!” Nashu added from her perch on the bench. It seemed she’d already made herself comfortable.

“You’ll freeze!”

Gigi tilted his little head to the side as he looked up at you. “Is ThAt TrUe, AuNtIe? WiLl wE fReEzE oUt HeRe?”

That threw you for a loop. “W-well, maybe not you, Gigi...” Could mammets freeze? Logic said yes, but little Gigi had spent all that time buried in the snow and was perfectly fine after a little maintenance…

“It takes more than a little cold to knock a Manderville man down!” Hildibrand exclaimed, flexing.

“Besides, we have the kettle!”

You blinked incredulously. Surely, you should be used to the deficit of rational thought by now, and yet-

“The kettle won’t keep you safe from the wind!” You retorted. Before you could open your mouth to argue further, you heard footsteps coming towards the gazebo.

“Is everything alright out here? I am hearing quite the commotion.”

All four of you turned almost in unison to see Lord Edmont approaching. He wore an amused expression rather than an irritated one.

You bowed slightly. “Lord Edmont. Pray forgive the noise. We were simply debating on what to do next.”

“Ah, yes. Have you heard the city is on lockdown due to an incoming blizzard? I just received word from one of my knights. You should really come inside before you catch cold.”

“I’m trying to explain to these three why sleeping outside in the gazebo through a blizzard is a bad idea.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, gesturing towards your friends.

Edmont was, very understandably, taken aback by the idea. He turned his gaze upon Hildibrand and friends. “Have you three been sleeping out here this entire time?!”

Three simultaneous nods, slightly bashful.

“Why!?”

Hildibrand raised a finger, taking a moment to think. “Er, you see… the funds of a traveling inspector are sometimes…” He seemed reluctant to admit it.

“We’Re RoUgHiNg It LiKe TrUe InSpEcToRs Do!”

Edmont shook his head. “While your sense of adventure is… admirable, I simply cannot very well allow you three to stay outside in this horrid weather. Why, the storm is already starting!” As if to punctuate his point, a gust of wind that chilled even you whipped through the Pillars.

“I would hate to impose…” Hildibrand looked conflicted between his pride and his likely desire to stop being out in the cold, if his shivering was any indication. Every second that passed made it look like the latter was going to win out in the end.

 “Nonsense! I insist. It would be poor manners to merely leave an esteemed member of House Manderville and his companions out in the cold.”

Gigi tugged at his hat, shaking his head. “We ArEn’T sTaYiNg In ThE gAzEbO?”

Uh oh. You had to act fast. “Uh, we’re going to go stay in the big gazebo, Gigi! They’ve got more than just a kettle. They’ve got a whole fireplace!”

“A rEaL oNe?”

You nodded. “A real one, with real fire!”

“YaY! bIg GaZeBo!” Gigi jumped for joy.

Edmont couldn’t help but chuckle at Gigi’s enthusiasm. “Yes, a real fire. Though do take care to keep your distance from it, young man.”

“OkAy! ThAnK yOu, UnClE eDmOnT!” Forgetting about the true gazebo for now, Gigi puttered off in the direction of Fortemps Manor.

“Gigi! Hold on a moment, my son!” Hildibrand called, dashing after him.

Nashu hopped up from her seat and ran after Hildibrand. “Wait for me, Inspector!”

You shook your head affectionately as you watched them go.

“What a lively bunch they are,” Edmont commented with a smile. “However did you come to know them?”

“It’s a long, long story. Perhaps Lord Godbert could tell you sometime. But I can assure you that while they may be somewhat… eccentric, they are perhaps some of the kindest souls Eorzea has ever known.”

Edmont nodded. “Then that is more than enough for me. I trust your judgment.” He patted your shoulder affectionately. “Are you staying for dinner?”

You grinned. “You know it.”

 ~

After a lively dinner in which miraculously no one was maimed, injured, or heavily insulted, it was time to settle in for the night. All of the guests were given a room… only for Nashu to fall asleep in front of the fireplace with Gigi, who had entered a ‘sleep mode’ of sorts.

Outside, the snow was falling and the wind was howling. It was likely for the best that your entourage had been invited inside, because from what you could see from the window, the gazebo outside was already half-covered with snow and the kettle long snuffed out by the winds.

You retired to your room as you usually did, and settled in for a night’s rest… only to find yourself completely unable to sleep. This happened from time to time; occasionally thoughts kept you up at night, thoughts of the past, the present, the future…

After what you estimated to be about three or so bells of trying, you gave up and decided to see about tea. The halls of the manor were dark, and it was doubtless that everyone was asleep.

Everyone, that was, except Hildibrand.

The man in question was sitting on a couch in the foyer, hunched over parchment and muttering to himself. There was a low fire crackling, which gave the room a dim glow. In the firelight, you could see that Nashu was still fast asleep on the floor, curled around Gigi like a mother coeurl. Someone (probably Edmont or one of the stewards) had draped a blanket over them and put a pillow under Nashu’s head.

“Hildy?” you called softly.

He startled a bit, dropping the quill in his hand. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said, relaxing.

You gave him a tired smile. “Can’t sleep,” you replied, moving to look over his shoulder. “What’s all this?”

“Plans!” he exclaimed, though he thankfully had the sense to lower his voice when Nashu, still curled up by the fire, shifted. She muttered something about chickens as her ears twitched, but otherwise remained fast asleep. Sometimes you envied her ability to sleep anywhere.

“For when we get to Idyllshire?” You leaned over the back of the couch, resting your head on your folded arms as you attempted to make heads or tails of Hildibrand’s elegant scrawl.

He grinned. “Precisely! As sharp as ever, my friend.”

You chuckled. “What have we got planned?”

“Well…” He pointed to a crudely drawn diagram. “I propose that using mainly spoons, we tunnel under where the Grand Sers have made their base and catch them unawares!”

A moment of silence passed between you two, then another.

“Spoons.”

 Hildibrand made a face. “This is a work in progress, of course.” He pushed his papers aside. “What do you think?”

 “Hmm… well, we should start by questioning the residents when we arri-“

 “Ah, I just had the most brilliant idea. When we arrive, we should split up and ask around!”

You snorted in laughter, shaking your head. “Never change, Hildy,” you said, standing up and starting towards the kitchens. “I’m making tea, do you want any?”

“That would be very kind of you!”

You gave him a thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchens to start the kettle.

A few moments later you came strolling back into the foyer with a tray. Upon the tray sat a teapot and two cups and saucers. “I hope you like black tea.”

“Thank you, it-“ For the first time since you’d come into the foyer, Hildibrand looked directly at you… and then promptly looked away, mouth slightly agape.

Huh? What was- oh. You looked down at yourself, remembering you were wearing a nightgown that, while very comfortable, left little to the imagination.

So Hildibrand was shy, hmm? You nearly giggled at the thought. As you poured the cups of tea, you took a moment to look at him as well. Given the late hour, it seemed he’d shed his coat and gloves, setting them neatly beside him. His bow tie hung to one side of his neck and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. The fire from the hearth gave off a warm glow to the room, reflecting off his eyes in a way that almost made them twinkle.

Your stomach flipped a little. How had you not truly paid attention before to how handsome a man Hildibrand was?

Well, objectively you knew this as it was an undisputed fact. But here and now, with the firelight dancing off the walls and highlighting his strong jawline and muscled form? Now, it was hard to deny on a personal level.

Deciding to test the waters and see where this went, you sat down right next to him after placing his teacup on the table in front of him. “Everything alright, Hildy?”

He nodded stiffly, still not looking at you. “I am completely fine!”

You drew your legs up next to you. “Are you sure? You seem flustered.”

“I assure you, nothing is wrong. But you… are you not cold?”

“Me? I’m not cold at all. Especially not next to you, I’m not.” You patted his arm for emphasis.

Hildibrand cleared his throat. “I-I see…” You could see a hint of a blush on his cheeks… adorable.

“Why would you think I’m cold?” You wanted to hear him say it.

“Well, you see… what you’re wearing… may not be the best choice for cold weather!”

You giggled. “Hildy, are you embarrassed?”

“No! It is simply uncouth for a gentleman to gaze upon a lady in such a state of undress!”

Adorable and polite. Your heart did a few more flips in your chest. Oh, you wanted to gobble him up.

“Even if the lady didn’t mind?”

The thought hadn’t seemed to have occurred to Hildibrand before right now. He turned a little bit back towards you, still not looking at you.

“Honestly, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have worn it outside my room if I did. And I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not a creep.”

He turned back to face the table at the very least, picking up his teacup and taking a sip. You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head.

You lowered your voice to an attempt at a seductive purr. “And what would you say if I told you I wanted you to look at me, hmm?” you teased.

He raised a finger as if to make a point, but also seemed to be at a loss for words. “Far be it from me to deny a lady such a simple request,” he finally said. And so he turned his gaze upon you.

You felt your heart pounding as his eyes swept your form, wide with reverence. Sometime during the evening, he’d forgone his monocle, leaving his face clearly visible. Oh, and what a nice face it was. Now that you were thinking about him like this, you were really, really thinking about it. Hildibrand may not have been the brightest person out there, but he was kind, sincere, handsome… oh no.

Suddenly you felt a little self-conscious. You swallowed, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips. “H-Hildy?”

“The most prolific of poets could not do you justice, my lady. You are utterly radiant.”

Holy shit. Where had that come from? Your eyes widened in turn, and you could feel your face heating up. “You truly think so?”

“Of course. I always have. I have eyes, my good woman!”

“You’ve never said anything.”

Hildibrand nodded sagely. “It is hardly gentlemanly to make unsolicited compliments on a lady’s appearance. My mother taught me that from a young age.”

(And calling them old was just fine, apparently.)

Suddenly a lot of things about Hildibrand made more sense. You almost shuddered remembering how effortlessly Julyan had taken out not one but three people during the course of the investigation in Ul’dah.

You chuckled softly. “You did say you were well versed in the ways of the fairer sex.”

Hildibrand looked away for a moment. “About that…”

“Hm?”

He cleared his throat nervously. “‘Tis true I am highly experienced in the art of treating ladies with the utmost respect! However, when it comes to courting one…”

You saw what he was getting at. “You haven’t had the chance.”

He nodded, seemingly grateful that he didn’t have to admit it himself.

“Well, I’m open to the idea.” You placed a hand on top of his.

Hildibrand’s jaw dropped. “A-are you?”

“Whyever not?” you said, parroting his words from earlier in the day. “You’re sweet, earnest, and devilishly handsome. I’d say you’re quite the catch.” You winked, causing Hildibrand’s face to erupt in a blush which in turn caused you to giggle. “You look like you’re surprised. What about your ‘swaths of adoring fans’?” you teased.

“I would never dream of taking advantage of someone’s admiration!” He looked scandalized by the very idea. Gods, how was this man real? He had an ego and a half for sure, but somehow also managed to still be utterly sweet and sincere in his words and actions.

You leaned in closer to him. This close, you could practically count his eyelashes. “If I’m offering, it’s hardly taking advantage, now is it? In fact…” You shifted so that your lips were right by his ear. “I could even teach you a thing or two about how to please a lady.”

Hildibrand stiffened, and you could have sworn the man shivered (and not from the cold). “I suppose not, no. I have a question for you, though.”

“Yes?”

“Are you propositioning me?”

If you hadn’t been supported by the couch, you’d have fallen over from the sheer shock of such an obvious question.

(Was anything ever really obvious to Hildibrand, though?)

“I have been this entire time, yes.” You laughed. “Thank you for noticing.”

Hildibrand huffed a laugh in response. “Well! I must say this is unprecedented!”

You pulled back a little to give him breathing room. “You can say no. I won’t be mad, honest. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Pray do not mistake my reaction for reluctance! I am merely… pondering my next steps. I would be a fool to refuse a beautiful woman such as yourself!”

You crept your fingers up his arm. “If you don’t know what to do… I could show you?”

He swallowed audibly. “I would be most honored, my lady.”

Grinning, you stood and offered him a hand up. “Not here,” you said, glancing over to the fireplace where Nashu and Gigi were still fast asleep. “Let’s go to my room.”

Hildibrand nodded dumbly and took your hand. You led him down the hall to your room, hips moving in an exaggerated sway the whole time. If you were relaxed about this, hopefully he would be too.

You flitted about your room, setting up candles for mood lighting while Hildibrand took a seat quite politely on your bed. He looked very much like a deer in the caravan lights, and the sight made your heart melt just a little.

Hildibrand looked up at you in awe as you approached, radiating confidence that matched his on an average day.

“Before we start, I want you to know: you can tell me to stop at any time. I don’t want to do something you don’t want to do, Hildy.” You smiled softly at him.

“Er, likewise! I will not force a lady into an uncomfortable situation!”

You chuckled. “There’s not a lot I haven’t done. Hope that doesn’t bother you.”

He shook his head. “A gentleman does not judge one on their history, merely on their present actions. Not to mention that there is no shame to be had in such a thing!”

“You’re sweet.” You took a seat next to him on the bed. “What would you like to do first?”

He froze a moment; apparently he hadn’t expected you to ask him what he wanted. Eyes widened and lips parted slightly, he held up a finger as if to ask for a moment, which you gladly gave him.

“May I… kiss you?” he finally asked, blinking a few times as if to confirm the sight in front of him was indeed real.

You grinned. “You certainly may,” you said, leaning forward and placing a hand on the side of his face as you gazed at him affectionately with eyes half-lidded. You moved closer, but left him space to close the distance or back away, whichever he wanted.

He chose the former, pressing his lips to yours cautiously. You gladly accepted, kissing back softly as to not overwhelm him. It was… it was clumsy to start with, to say the least. His lips were puckered far too much, and it was like kissing a fish.

Pulling back a little, you tilted your head at him. “How was that? Was that nice?” He nodded. “Here, try it like this.” You pursed your lips just as you had before, waiting for him to do the same.

This time was much smoother, he was a lot less stiff. The hand not holding his face came up to tousle through his hair, completely pulling it out of place. You slid your other hand down and around him, pulling him closer to you, and he grunted softly into the kiss in response. Glancing down briefly told you he had no idea what to do with his hands.

The kiss ended much slower this time. As you both pulled back, his eyes fluttered open to look at you, pupils blown wide. The sight almost made you squirm. Kissing him on the cheek, you reached down and tugged on his hands gently. He let you guide them to your waist.

“Is this alright?” you asked. Wordless, he nodded. His hands were large on your waist, and you could feel the heat radiating from them through the thin material of your nightgown. “You’re doing excellent, Hildy.” He shivered at the praise, and you took note of this.

You brought your legs up underneath you as you turned to face him fully, still sitting on the edge of the bed. Both of your hands came up to either side of his face as you kissed him again. This time he seemed to get it, pressing back with intensity equal to your own.

Moaning softly into the kiss, you moved to deepen it. He responded enthusiastically, daring to put one hand up to the side of your face. You broke the liplock momentarily to press a nuzzling kiss into his palm before returning to your target. His goatee scratched ever so slightly against your face, and you giggled at the sensation. With one hand, you silently nudged him to face you as well.

He pulled you closer to him and you happily followed, coming forward and swinging your leg over so your legs were on either side of his firm thighs. Oh, they were as solid as they looked. His grip on you tightened slightly and you responded by grinding down on him. A very solid proof of interest greeted you as well as a throaty moan from him, which you returned with one of your own.

Eager to go already? My, my, this man was full of surprises, you thought.

Your hands eagerly moved down to the buttons on his shirt, fingers fumbling with the fabric. He froze, one hand coming up to stop yours. You stopped immediately, scooting back to give him some room.

“Ah, give me a moment…” he said, breathing heavily.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Hildibrand looked conflicted. “But you want-“

You shook your head. “Doesn’t matter what I want.” You took his hands in yours and held them. “We go at your pace. It wouldn’t be very ladylike of me to force a gentleman to do something, now would it?” You winked at him.

“It wouldn’t be something I don’t want,” he said, scrunching his face up in thought. “Apologies for my forwardness, but this is something I am very much interested in! Rather…”

“Too fast?” You tilted your head at him, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

He chuckled. “Once again, your powers of deduction are capital!”

“I did learn from the best,” you said, leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead. “That’s you, in case you didn’t realize.”

“Oh.”

You giggled. “You want to just stay like this? We could sleep.” A moment of silence passed. “Just sleep.”

“Ah, what if your friends were to find us?”

“They know what I’m like.” You shrugged. “And I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He shook his head rapidly. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell!”

You grinned, moving to lay down on your bed and patting the area next to you. Cautiously, Hildibrand moved to lay down next to you. You rested your head against his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

Hildibrand was silent a moment before nodding. “This is… nice.” He moved to wrap his arms around you before stopping halfway through. “Er, may I?”

“Please,” you said, giving him a sleepy smile. Despite the fact that your heart was still racing (and so was his, you could feel), you felt comfortably tired now.

He pulled you into his strong arms and settled you down so that your head rested against his chest. You noticed he very pointedly angled his pelvis slightly away from you, and you didn’t press the matter. Instead, you snuggled into his arms and breathed him in. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the scent of rotting flesh and picked up saltpeter and mammet oil. It was familiar, comforting.

You sighed softly, content. Here in his arms, you felt… safe, secure. Logically you knew that if something were to happen it would be you protecting him instead of the other way around, but it felt nice to be held.

Goodnight, Hildy,” you whispered.

“Sleep well,” he whispered back, and you felt the light pressure of his lips against the crown of your head.

It was there that you drifted off, safe and sound in the arms of your inspector

***

(consent is sexy, y’all)

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

III: Confession

On the topic of family: Aria Vitali and Edmont de Fortemps (featuring Artoirel and Emmanellain de Fortemps)

1563 words

AO3 ver.

[Shadowbringers spoilers below]

❅ ❅ ❅

Lord Edmont de Fortemps watched as Aria smiled happily as she brought the teacup to her lips. The taste of chamomile and rose petals skimmed their tongues, the scent of potpourri bathing them in herbal remedies—to which the lord knew that this combination was her favorite—basking them in a refined sort of indulgence and relaxation. On her plate was an array of pastries, a sweets tower often found in High House tea parties standing in the center of the table while the lord was content with scones and lemon bread.

It had been a while since the woman had returned home, had returned to Ishgard. He had heard news passed from her brother, who obtained his tidbits from the Scions themselves. Whatever she had experienced in this new land called 'the First' clearly had its toll on her. As a father, Edmont was able to pick up on the differences rather quick: the dark circles under her eyes, the scabs of dried over cuts left over on exposed skin and the slight twitchiness she was displaying among some of the tells he knew that she wasn't aware of showing.

However, the lord had more tact than to ask. His home was her solace, a place that she can escape to that bars the entrance of those looking to manipulate her, looking to use her name and status for their own gain. He knew the game Ishgardian nobles were wont to play despite knowing that they should be grateful to the Warrior of Light for freeing them of years of battle with the Dravanians. For sparing them the fate of being razed to the ground by Nidhogg and his brood. He won't suffer for it and all within his estate is painfully aware; after all, they bear the same sentiments as the heads of house.

"Father, is aught amiss?"

Lord Edmont blinked, pulled from his reverie by the woman calling out to him. He offered a repentant smile and inclined his head.

"Mine apologies, my dear, 'tis the old age preventing me from hearing clearly. Would you do this old man a favor of repeating what you last said?"

Aria laughed at the comment, a bird-like, melodious sound, in response.

"If you were of old age, then you would not be moving as spritely as you were when you had greeted me early in the morn. I only mean to say that I had learned of a variant of herb that may aid in your arthritis while in Novrandt. When I next visit, I will harvest some and see what I can do about concocting an herbal remedy."

There she goes again, the lord thought. Caring about others and not for herself.

Edmont's smile widened and he nodded in understanding.

"You are kind overmuch, my dear. You need not go out of your way to procure the ingredients. As you said, I am still a 'spritely' man."

At this, the pair burst into cheerful chuckles and the lord saw the way that the man- and maidservants standing in wait near the wall smiled in kind. The warmth of the Warrior, the happiness of their lord together in one place and one time was a sight for sore eyes. 

The truth is more complicated; the lord being privy to them whispering and collecting news on Aria's affairs, worrying for her as if she was truly a trueborn daughter of House Fortemps. It was a shame that House Lukos, the true blood family of the Vitali children, had originally denied their lineage for the children's mother had conceived them with a lowborn with no status, no money, no honor. It was only after Aria had made a name of herself after slaying Nidhogg in which they tried to claim them as their own, even forcefully at times. They truly didn't know such treasures if it hit them in the-

Edmont took a sip of his tea, pushing the thoughts to the furthest corner of his mind. It was well and good that Stryder, Aria's elder brother, had decided to accept the position of House Lukos' next head of house. It was interesting to learn his decision of keeping the 'Vitali' surname, but he confided that it was because neither he nor his sister wished to forget their roots and where they came from. 

Moreover, the notion of allowing Aria to remain with the Fortemps family was a statement in itself: 'I care not for what you do to me, but I will never allow you to touch my sister with your greedy hands' is the words that was said. At least, according to Echoes, Aria's attendant. Thus was she here, thus has she made this manor her home for most of her days. That is, until the day a certain lord commander clad in blue decides to take her for his wife.

"Father, there is something I must confess," Aria began.

With the way that the woman had gently placed her tea cup down, the way her eyes suddenly went serious, it was something that had been swirling about her mind and heart for a while. So, Edmont did the same and sat upright just a bit more as a silent indication that he was paying attention. He saw that she appreciated notion as she smiled just a bit despite her hesitation before she finally spoke.

"You know, Father, I do not have many regrets in life. I try my best to live as if every moment is my last considering the nature of the work I am doing."

Indeed. There are many souls worrying for your safety every day.

"But, you know, Father... The day that I realized that I was dying, that I realized that the primordial Light was close to consuming all of me, there were a few things that I learned that I regretted."

At this, Edmont's eyes widened in slight surprise, his jaw going slack to which Aria had smiled sympathetically albeit wistfully.

"The first was not telling Haurchefant how much he meant to me. For allowing the fear of being hurt to consume me to the point that I was no longer afforded the chance. When I think about it, I am sure he knew and I am sure he felt the same way. There was too many things going on, after all...!"

Aria chuckled softly to herself, nervously, but Edmont didn't begrudge her for it. He knew from the first the sentiments they had for each other even when they were still figuring it out for themselves. She had gone through so much and she yet pushed on. He could never hate her for it. In fact, it made him love her even more.

"My other regret, though, Father... was not telling you how much you mean to me."

Edmont could only stare at the woman, a whirlpool of emotions swirling within his chest. He saw the manner to which her amethyst eyes glazed with unshed tears, her lips remaining stretched so she would be able to finish her confessions to him before she, herself, fell apart.

"Losing Mother when we were young really tore Stryder and I apart. When I lost my biological father hereafter, I could not help but blame myself. 'If only I was wiser. If only I had reached out to others for help earlier.' I know that he passed from an incurable disease and I truly regret not loving him more.

Yet, I am grateful. For if it was not for his last wish to have us bear witness to Ishgard and its splendors, I would not have become an Adventurer. I would not have met Haurchefant or seen the land that they hailed from. I am sure my mother and father are happy where they are and they would forgive me for such arrogance in saying this... Lord Edmont, I am proud to call you 'Father'. A father that had taken me in his home when I had no where else to go, that has loved and guided me on my path and has wiped my tears when I have cried despite not being his own."

It was at this that Aria couldn't help, but spill the tears she tried desperately to hold back. She sniffled, hiccuped and it brought to life the paternal instincts within him. So much so that he couldn't help but shedding tears of his own.

"Wh-When I thought that I would not be able to tell you th-this, I was heartbroken," she said inbetween her sobs. "So I...I wanted to tell you immediately."

Edmont stood to his feet, circling the table and took the woman into his embrace, patting the back of her head gently. He allowed her to openly weep against his clothing, offering sweet hushes and words of reassurance, and when both Artoirel and Emmanellain had crossed the hall and peeked into the room to see what was happening, he could only give them a reassuring expression.

"Is everything alright, old girl?" Emmanellain asked, ever so tactless.

Edmont nodded. "Indeed. Just a little sentimental, your sister is."

Artoirel smiled helplessly. "Ah, so it seems."

When they approached, Edmont reached out and pulled the two into his embrace, as well. He was blessed to have such children, one who loves him and whom he loves in earnest.

He will confess this to all of Ishgard if need be.

[marjiandco]

#3: Muster

Timeline: after the dragonsong war

Characters: Marji, Aymeric

Word Count: 1454

Marji was extremely nervous about the coming dinner with Aymeric. He was so regal, and refined, he was like a crystal clear lake compared to her muddy waters. She even stooped to asking Emmanellain de Fortemps for fashion help when Raiku was at a loss.  

A decision she still couldn't decide if she regretted or not when he put her in a dress with a corset so tight her breasts felt like they were throttling her. She suspected he has some perverse glee in seeing her like that, but with all the other high ladies of Ishgard wearing something similar she couldn't fully condemn him. She tried to have a council with Raiku about table manners but he was mysteriously busy those days. She ended up running to Honoroit for help. She never gave the kid as much credit he deserved; he was already an honorable and exceedingly practiced person.

On the day of, she walked to his estate, muttering practiced lines and polite small talk under her breath in hopes to impress. She was lead through the manor, and she was shocked with how different it was from the de Fortemps. As much as there was comfort and luxuries, de Borel's seem to covet functionality and closeness. They had reached the dining room, where Aymeric awaited her. She thanked the butler or was it landlord? And made a quick wiping motion before holding out her hand to kiss. She felt ridiculous, but he played along, taking her warm hand in his and giving it a small peck. She gave an awkward curtsy and an embarrassed laugh before they gathered around an intimate table setting.

Aymeric was an observant man; he could tell how nervous she was, and swallowed a laugh when she bent at the knee. She looked radiant, but uncomfortable in her own skin, and he vowed to bring out the woman he's come to know. He spoke in a relaxed tone, something soft and warm to entice her to leave this strange shell she's built. She loosened her shoulders after a couple glasses of wine, the food delicious as a rosy tint colored her silver cheeks. He asked her about her travels, finding himself lost in her stories of taskmaster moogles and fantastical locations. Just speaking to her brightened his day and pulled him away from his arid reports and stoic briefings.

Truth be told, he created this dinner as a way to be alone with her. He found himself inexplicably drawn to this miqo'te woman. Even their first meeting he found himself struck by her wild black and white hair, the stare that sucked him in and seemed to see right through him. Understanding her more, even at the distance she keeps, was one of the true joys of this past year. She could make him genuinely laugh. It wasn't until Estinien was stolen by Nidhogg that he realized his feelings of attraction to her. He couldn't stop thinking about her, even in his most private moments she remained. He finally couldn't take it, and with the Dragonsong war at an end he took the opportunity to speak to her. When she mentioned him coming on her next adventure, he believed her feelings to be close to his.

After the meal he asked her to go for a walk with him to his families little courtyard, away from the prying eyes of the city. They walked together beneath the moonlight, and he was transfixed at how she seemed to glow beneath the blue light. Stars speckled in her eyes, and when she stopped to look at the sky, he took his chance.

“Mistress Wahluuk, Marji..” He swallowed a lump building in his throat.

When her gemstone like eyes turned to him and she breathed out his name it was all he could do not to shiver. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and he noted how surprisingly small they were compared to his hands.

“It's been a most wonderful evening having you here. I don't believe I've had a good night like this in...I don't know how long.”

“Yes It's been such a whirlwind I haven't had time to slow down. This has been nice Aymeric.” She smiled.

He swallowed again and took a step closer to her, and he could feel her warmth and he could feel his own heat rising. She looked at him quizzically, but not unwanted.

“I enjoy my time with you. You're a strong, courageous woman who I've come to look to not just against enemies, but here, where we can be who we are. I hope I haven't spoken so freely as to offend.”

She shook her head.

“Good.” He said, the heat getting the better of him.

He moved a hand to the small of her back and leaned down, eyes locked on her lusciously pink lips as they parted, inviting him closer as her breath hitched. Just as their lips were about to touch, she spoke his name not with want, but with confusion. He stopped and pulled back an inch. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed against him weakly, as if apologetically. He was surprised by her reaction and he stopped his movements, but remained close to her.

“Aymeric I don't, um..” she mumbled, her breath tickling his nose.

As if life came back to him, he fully moved away from her, dropping his hands as red began to spread across his face.

“I...profusely apologize. If I've caused you any distress.”

“No!” she stopped him, taking hold of his hand in both of hers “It's not that it's just, we're so different. You're so refined and I'm, I'm just some adventurer.”

“You must needs not believe that. I like being with you as you are; you don't have to put all this together just to speak with me.” He gestured to her outfit. “Not that your efforts weren't noticed, you look quite nice in Ishgardian cloth.”

She snorted “Yeah Emmanellain sure thought so.”

He smiled at the glimpse of who he fell in love with, but it was faint.

“That's not the point though, Aymeric.” She slid a hand up his arm and he couldn't help but feel elated, even with things going so wrong.

“Aymeric I'm not,” she bit her lip “I don't think I'm ready for something like this. With everything that's happened I haven't been given time to recuperate.”

Though she was being delicate, he realized how much of a fool he'd been. She had just lost Haurchefant naught a few months ago, and he was already trying to bed her? Shame enveloped him.

“Aymeric you're a great man, and I love our time together, really, but I don't think I could get into a relationship right now without ruining it. I'm just, er, casual.”

He felt a pang at the thought. She has had a couple of nights where she was alone with strange people. He realized what she meant by casual, and felt a pang of jealousy that he would not be one of them. He wanted to bargain and say he could be with her with no attachments, but he knew his feelings would only grow.

“Please don't think I don't want to be your friend, I value you and want to have our talks and companionship.”

Uncharacteristically, he pulled her into a hug without asking for permission. “Marji I would never jeopardize our friendship for one strange moment.” He said in her hair.

When she circled her arms around him he breathed a sigh of relief before breaking contact, a smile he hoped to the gods didn't look pained. “You're important to me, and though I might have a passion you don't reciprocate I would like to continue to be a friend. I'll need a moment to recollect, but don't think this will make things strange between us.”

She sighed, her shoulders relaxing beneath his hands “Gods, thank you. I couldn't lose you too. I'll uh, leave you to your thoughts.”

A small pat on his chest, her ears doing that cute thing where one flattened a little more than the other before heading towards the exit. As he went to his room to lick his wounds, and Marji to hers in the de Fortemps manner, he bemoaned his stupidity. Marji would race through scenarios of being the girlfriend of Aymeric de Borel, of their lives or ultimate break ups, and nothing seemed to tug her in one direction. The fact that he accepted not only her rejection but to continue to stay friends meant she found a good man. The pair would value their friendship tightly, and the time apart in the coming wars only solidified their platonic connection.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #27 - Acceptance

AO3 Link HERE

================

Aurelia squinted at the document in her hand. "So if I am reading this correctly," she said, "in Ishgard I would be known in official records as Aurelia de Fortemps rather than Aurelia Laskaris?"

"That you would. As a ward of my father's house you and young Master Alphinaud - and yes, Mistress Tataru as well - have all been conferred the status and rights of scions of the High Houses. That includes the protection of our name."

"Well! That is quite the thing. To be cast by circumstance from one noble house only to gain another." Her smile was listless and wry. "If that isn't a statement upon the whims of fate I don't know what is."

"My father will be glad to help where needed, I think. But if ever you have need of my personal assistance, it is yours. Just as it has ever been."

"You have done more for me than I could ever have hoped in these past few weeks alone." Unbidden memories arose in the wake of her words, and she felt sudden heat in her cheeks despite the bitter chill of the wind. "....Haurchefant, I... y-you do not think ill of me, do you?"

His brows lifted until they disappeared in the unkempt mop of his silvery hair. 

"What? Certainly not! Why in the Fury's name would you think so?"

"I don't..." Her hands tightened upon the balcony railing as she took a deep breath. "Since the other night I've not really had the chance to speak with you alone like this. I suppose we've been busy but that's only part of it. I... I feel that on some level, I've been avoiding you."

"Go on," he said gently, when he saw that she was struggling. Aurelia smiled, small and uncertain.

"You see, I... I think - very much - that I have not been as good a friend as I should. That is to say, when we were-... I think I may have been using you. For comfort. And I'm ashamed of myself for it. You deserve better." Her hands gripped fistfuls of her skirts. "That... was extremely selfish of me. I have been unfair to you- unfair, and unkind. And I wanted to-"

His warm hand on her cheek interrupted her stumbling, awkward apology mid-syllable.

"You have no need to beg forgiveness of me, Aurelia," he said gently. "I've long understood the way of things. And I am hardly an innocent wounded party; when we first met this was the offer I made to you. Was it not?"

"Aye, I fully recall that you propositioned me. 'Twas a jest, or so I assumed at the time."

"Come now," he chided, "do you think I offer the comforts of my bed to every passing adventurer?"

"The thought had crossed the minds of several fortress denizens, as I recall." Haurchefant smiled; in truth, his intent all along had been to make his friend laugh. She had burdens enough without adding himself to the list. "You have got a bit of a reputation, Lord Greystone."

"Ah, just so! Well, 'tis true that I have my appetites. But I take none who do not come willingly." He patted her hand, still smiling. "You are neither the first nor the last to accept that offer. It came with no strings attached. You have been through some very trying times of late and I am full glad to have had the privilege of your companionship."

"Haurchefant-"

"Pray let me continue. You've shared my bed, but that only makes us friends. It does not mean you are interested in anything more, and it would be unseemly of me to assume otherwise."

The careful way she searched his expression made it clear she sought reassurance. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"You're not just attempting to spare my blushes, are you? I know I've wronged you. I can accept it if I've damaged our relationship."

His lips curved in a cheeky grin. "I admit I would not find it amiss were you to seek another tryst- but that is your decision to make. Whichever you choose, my hearth or my bed, I will be as glad for it as I ever was."

"If you're certain all is well and forgiven." Her eyes, wet and overbright, shone in the flickering light of the balcony lamps. "You are my dearest friend, Haurchefant. You always will be."

"As you are mine," he said. "And I would hate for you to feel as though aught has changed between us." 

Despite her air of self-possession, Haurchefant thought, Aurelia had never struck him as a cold person. Quite the opposite, in fact- but she was also very much like her patron goddess. Bright, constant, radiant... and remote. Always just at arm's length, so very close to the joys and sorrows of those she protected but shuttered from them as though she were separated from all she held dear by an invisible panel of glass. 

She was, despite working tirelessly on behalf of Eorzea's betterment, not an Eorzean. She was an outsider, an interloper, and it was the wall that prevented her from truly finding a place among them. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he wished to change that. 

"You will always have a home in Ishgard," he said, his voice uncommonly firm.

To feel her arms suddenly wrap around him was startling, but it brought him joy as well. "Thank you," she whispered. "Haurchefant, it... that was the last time. My actions that night were self-serving and they would be even more so now. I fear I would cause you a hurt neither of us could heal. But I shall cherish our friendship, always. No matter where fate and life take us."

Haurchefant's arms tightened about her slim frame in return for just a moment, as he indulged himself in the moment of wistful sadness her admission brought him. But when she released him from her embrace at last he was smiling, blue eyes once again bright and twinkling with mirth. 

"If we sit around talking about our feelings much longer, my friend, I fear we'll turn into ice statues ere the conversation ends! Let's come inside from this awful wind. We can warm ourselves by the fire while you tell my father of some of your adventures- and myself as well. I don't believe you ever told me what happened once you opened the doors of the Tower?"

He held out one elbow in a courtly gesture. With that small, shy smile he loved, the Warrior of Light took it and followed him into the manor.

[starrysnowdrop]

My New OC and Ship Headcanons

Yup, I have been very inspired with a new OC and ship! The worst thing about it is that there’s not a lot of Artoirel content out there... and I mean hardly anything at all. But that’s also the best thing about it: I can let my mind take an idea and run with it!

First, you should probably read Psyche’s profile HERE and my first ship headcanons HERE.

Psyche Headcanons

Psyche is an only child raised in Dalmasca by her mother. In traditional Viera fashion, Psyche’s father lives alone and doesn’t raise her. In fact, she has never even met her father, nor does she know if he’s even alive still.

Unlike the majority of the Viera, Psyche and her family lived in the city of Rabanastre and did not follow the “Green Word”. It was Psyche’s mother who was the first to leave her tribe in order to see what the world was like beyond the forest.

When her mother left the tribe, she was banished forever and even her descendants can never return. As such, Psyche has never met her family’s original tribe.

Psyche was still in her mother’s womb when her mother left her tribe, so she was even born in Rabanastre. Soon after, her grandmother and several of her aunts and cousins leave the tribe as well, due to a differing in opinion about helping outsiders.

Psyche’s surname is Somnambula, which directly translates to “sleepwalker”, but the meaning behind the surname is closer to “Dreamwalker”.

Everyone in her family has a love for astrology and divination, and specifically her mother and grandmother both have visions of the past, the future, and can even see into someone else’s dreams, though they rarely can control this power.

Yes, the visions of the past are attributed to the Echo, but no one is certain why she and her family can see the future or others’ dreams as well.

It is one such vision of hers that led Psyche to Eorzea, which was a series of flashes of her future battles as the Warrior of Light.

Not too long after arriving in Eorzea, Psyche had a reoccurring dream of a unicorn running through snow. She has no idea what to make of it until she arrived in Coerthas with Alphinaud and Cid. She then saw the sigil of House Fortemps and knew that her fate would be entwined with this High House of Ishgard.

Psyche became really good friends with Haurchefant, even thinking of him as a brother, but her feelings for him were always platonic. Obviously she took his death extremely hard.

She is a friendly person and always wants to help others. She gets Artoirel to open up to her very quickly despite his distrust of her and the Scions at first. Others remark that they find her easy to talk to and that she gives great advice.

Psyche becomes good friends with Emmanellain and his nickname for her “old girl” actually has a double meaning, as Psyche is actually “old” to him (she is 55). She is almost Count Edmont’s age, but she is still considered very young for a Viera.

One of her favorite hobbies is reading, and she usually has a book in her hand during her down time. She prefers to read about history, other cultures, and magical theory. She was fascinated with Ishgard since she was a young child, and was very excited when she finally got to see it with her own eyes.

Because she grew up in a desert environment, she is not used to the cold climate of Coerthas. However, that doesn’t stop her from wearing clothing which exposes some skin.

Artoirel de Fortemps Headcanons

After rewatching a bunch of cutscenes and reading his dialogue throughout HW, Artoirel seems to not be a soft as Haurchefant or Aymeric, but not as gruff and edgy as Estinien.

He also isn’t afraid to speak his mind, as evidenced by his clear disapproval of having the WoL helping out with his duties when he first meets the Scions.

Artoirel sometimes has to check himself and refrain from outbursts and speaking aloud what his true thoughts on a subject when it may not be proper or polite to around others. His mouth has gotten himself into trouble growing up and sometimes now.

Artoirel also is not afraid to admit when he is wrong, as evidenced by his quick apology to WoL after the events in Falcon’s Nest. He is not so proud that he won’t apologize and to make amends for his wrongdoings.

As he is the eldest son and destined to take over for his father as Count of House Fortemps, Artoirel has a strict upbringing and his parents were hardest on him as they had very high expectations for him.

As he explains after the events of Falcon’s Nest, he always had a strained relationship with Haurchefant, and never accepted him out of his love for his mother. He judges the Scions based on the fact that he always thought Haurchefant was the favorite son and his father always gave in to him.

Also due to the fact that Artoirel hated how his mother was betrayed by his father, who had an affair with Haurchefant’s mother, Artoirel vowed he would never do that to his future wife. He has certainly been flirted with and pursued by a fair share of maids and noble women alike, he never gave in to temptation. He truly wants to be loyal only to one woman.

Psyche x Artoirel Headcanons

For Psyche, she was not prepared when she met Haurchefant’s family, as she never thought Haurchefant’s half brother Artoirel would be so gorgeous. She was immediately attracted to him and hel feeling for him only deepened over time.

When Artoirel first saw Psyche, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, but he didn’t trust her or her fellow Scions. He even overtly protested when Psyche was asked to help him with his duties. She always thought he hated her at first, and had no idea he was so conflicted.

Artoirel’s feelings changed from just physical attraction to a full blown crush when Psyche proved herself by standing up to the heretics and successfully tracking them down. He realized that all of Haurchefant’s stories were absolutely true, and his heart couldn’t handle it.

As the Scions stayed in his home at Fortemps Manor, Psyche frequently dined with Artoirel and his family, read tomes together, trained together, and held long lasting, deep conversations well into the night. They spent a lot of time together and their feelings grew with each passing day.

Artoirel offended Psyche at first when he called her “the bunny”, as that is usually an insult to Viera. Over time, he would call her “bunny” to tease her and he laughed at her reactions, as he knew it would annoy her. Soon, it actually became his pet name for her, and he used it as a term of endearment. Now, he lovingly calls her “my bunny”.

Psyche soon called Artoirel “Artie”, and Emmanellain cringed at first, as usually Artoirel hates that nickname. This is due to the fact that it was their mother’s nickname for him. Much to Emmanellain’s shock, however, Artoirel oddly didn’t reprimand Psyche for calling him that. When asked about it, Artoirel didn’t know why it didn’t bother him when she said it. This was the first clue that Artoirel was in love with her.

They both thought that a relationship would never happen, as it is traditional that marriages are arranged, and Artoirel would never be able to marry a low born, let alone an outsider like Psyche.

It is the fact that he never thought he would be able to be with her that led him to asking Psyche if she would be a sister to him as she was to Haurchefant. Psyche agreed but she ended up running away in tears.

Artoirel is devastated that he made her cry, and Emmanellain told him the obvious fact that she loved him as much as he loved her. Artoirel says he knows there is something between them, but thinks he can never marry her.

Edmont soon tells his son that now that he is the head of their house, it is now Artoirel’s choice of who he marries. Edmont encourages Artoirel to marry for love, as he himself never had that opportunity. Along with the fact that Ishgard was rapidly changing, Psyche is in fact a ward of House Fortemps and the savior of Ishgard, so it would be a scandal to some, but not as scandalous as it could be.

Artoirel finds Psyche near Camp Cloudtop and comforts her, explains that he is now the head of House Fortemps and he has the freedom to choose who he wants to marry. He confesses that he only asked her to be a sister to him because he never thought he would be able to be with her.

Along with the love confession, he states that he has every intention of marrying her, if she would have him. She, of course, agrees.

He properly proposes after Doma and Ala Mhigo are liberated, but the wedding had to be postponed when word got out that the Empire was attacking Eorzea. Currently, they are hoping to be wed once the fighting has slowed down and Psyche returns from the First with the Scions’ souls returned to their bodies.

That is all for now! If you have gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! Hopefully I will have something written for them soon.

[fistsoflightning]

9: confidence boost

prompt: lush || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2256

It’s all fun and games until they all get invited to an Ishgardian ball. (Or; Lumelle has never liked anything to do with the high society of her hometown. A’dewah tries to help his friend out.)

Contains canon-divergence bits and bobs, notably pertaining to the Vault, because why not?

“Mel,” Auphine calls from the doorway, fiddling with her boots, maybe—A’dewah can’t quite see her fully from where he stands in front of Lumelle’s (extremely dusty, clearly unused) vanity, more focused on clearing up the mirror than anything. “What are you going to do about your face?”

“Do not repeat this back to Mama, but I,” Lumelle huffs, and if she weren’t standing incredibly still so that Valdis and Lunya can finish taking adjustment measurements for her dress A’dewah thinks her arms would be crossed firmly across her chest. “have no swiving clue what you mean by ‘what am I going to do about my face’, Auphie.”

Duscha raises an amused eyebrow over the brim of his book while Elwin giggles into his palm. No one really expected her to know—at least, among that of the Scions and her usual friends—but Auphine makes an exaggerated sighing motion with her shoulders as she stands straight.

“You know Mama’s going to want you ‘dolled up’, or what have you,” she explains. “And the other nobles—”

“If they give a damn, they can talk to the business end of Fragarach,” Lumelle grumbles as Valdis softly pushes her arms back down. Auphine sighs louder, and A’dewah didn’t think the little conjurer had that large of lungs on her; clearly he’s mistaken, by how her exhale carries.

“Do not tell me I did not warn you!” Auphine waves to Elwin as she leaves the room, the heels of her boots clicking against the wooden floor of the manor. Lumelle groans loud enough to wake Tehra’ir up from his slump against Zaya’s shoulder momentarily, eventually resting his forehead carefully back onto their shoulder, making sure not to press his eyes into the white of their dress shirt.

For his own merit, he does his best to ignore it while he carefully swipes the tube of lipstick across his lips, pausing when Syhrwyda leans over to pick up her hairpin from the vanity. She catches his gloss, too, when it falls on its side and starts to roll away; he could probably hug her for that. Damned glass vials and all.

“Mel,” Elwin says, his swinging feet tapping against the settee. “I think Auphie might be right.”

“...I know, but I—it’s not like I know how to use any of—of that stuff Mama dumped onto me when I came back. Most of it’s probably dried up, by now.”

A’dewah, for the curious bit of him that is right next to all the old cosmetics, opens up a pot of what likely used to be a scented lotion that smelled strongly of sandalwood.

What he finds is nearly rock hard. Well then.

“Dress’s done,” Valdis says quietly, Lunya snipping the last bit of thread hanging from Lumelle’s sleeve. The high house dress… looks incredibly uncomfortable for her, he thinks, compared to the normal surcoats and cuirasses she’d normally prefer.

“You all should get going,” Lumelle says, looking up at the chronometer. Nearly the seventh bell. “I… guess I’ll be here for a while yet.” 

“Here,” he says, scooting over on the bench to leave enough space for Lumelle to sit. He waves the closed tube of lipstick in the air when Zaya tilts their head in confusion. “I can stay behind and help her.”

Lumelle, for her merit, gives him a wary glance that might as well be screeching this better not end with me in a face of powders, but she trudges her way over anyhow as everybody else leaves Lumelle’s room. Zaya gives him a small wink before they turn the corner, pointing to the two corsages sitting at the end of Lumelle’s old bed.

“Why do you know so much about cosmetics, anyhow?” She sits with all the grace of a lion stumbling through a minefield, really, shaking the bench as she falls back onto it.

“I have three sisters,” he murmurs as he fumbles with the containers and pots he’s laid out before him, opening to check the colors and closing when he looks back over to Lumelle’s skin. He should have asked someone else—surely Lumelle’s mother, but Lumelle herself would not appreciate her mother fussing about. Perhaps someone from House Fortemps would have known of some cosmetics common to Ishgard, and a merchant. Aymeric, maybe; he looks like he would know his way around a few brushes. If he’d the willpower, Hanami would have worked, too, having lived in Ishgard long enough to count as one of them... even if he’d probably get his head taken off in the process. “My youngest brother likes to, er, contour, too. Hard to avoid cosmetic talks when most of your siblings, who’ve been very much restrained in their pastimes since forever, enjoy it? And…”

He taps the top of his cosmetics box; small enough to fit into the bottom of his satchel, beneath all the books and draughts he lugs around when he’s traveling by foot, all the pots and brushes neatly tucked away. He’d needed to buy newer paints and cremes when he’d gotten back from the First—a pain, seeing as he’d been without for long enough, but if the urge struck and he didn’t have his box refilled he’d probably see his anxiety spike—but none of them would match Lumelle’s darker skin either way.

“I, uhm, might have a bit of fun with this, from time to time?” The urge to wring his hands together is incredibly strong, but he fiddles with the latch on his cosmetics box. He hadn’t even really shown Haruki, now that he thinks about it—more a private pleasure than anything, now out to his friends. 

Character development, he thinks wryly. You will be fine.

Maybe he should have waited to put on the lip paint, he thinks as he helps wrangle the rest of Lumelle’s hair into a nice crown braid. All straightened out, strange compared to the very wavy-haired Lumelle he’d passed by not a few mornings ago, and the coarse texture of her hair rubs oddly against the pads of his fingers.

Now…

“Could you turn to face me?” He carefully opens his cosmetics box to pull out a few small brushes—making sure to set them apart from the brush he’d already used, a new pot of cool red paint, and a small jar of dark powder. “Promise I won’t, er, go overboard.”

“I trust you,” she says, even though it doesn’t look like she believes it, and she closes her eyes.

The quiet click and clatter of closing and opening containers fills the comfortable quiet as A’dewah brushes powders and paints onto Lumelle’s face. He has to remind her with a quiet tap on her knuckles not to scrunch her face, sometimes, but he can’t quite blame her when he’s trying not to sneeze the whole time from the dust that flutters about in motes, the sunset fading through the window making them gleam.

“You’ll keep these after I’m done,” he says while he finishes up the edges of Lumelle’s lip paint, the bright red perhaps a tad too bright for how much he’s put on; maybe he can wipe a bit of it off? “Sanitary things, is all. I—I don’t expect you to keep using them!”

Lumelle doesn’t say anything, not even a quiet protest, instead turning her head to look at herself in the mirror.

“This is weird,” she finally decides, after a few moments of staring intensely at the mirror. “Not used to my lips being… red.”

“Is it bad?”

He pulls out another tube of gloss—thank the Matron he’d decided to get a spare tube from that merchant in Ul’dah—and Lumelle sighs. “Not as bad as I thought it might, no. It’s just…”

Her brow furrows again.

“Here,” he mumbles, a bit awkwardly. “Put that on, and I’ll grab your earring.”

It takes a bit of fishing around in the drawers, unorganized as they are; he sneezes, once, when he opens it too fast and the dust goes flying into the air, but eventually he finds the slightly tarnished House Fortemps earring among the wreck that is Lumelle’s vanity. It gleams, still, in the fading sunlight, the red unicorn standing out among the dark grey metal around it.

“Done,” Lumelle says. He turns, and it’s… not as neat as he’d hoped, but it’s miles better than anything Vahno could have done, at any rate, so he presses the earring into her upturned palm among the light scars and smiles.

“There we go,” he murmurs, gently swiping his thumb to clean off some of the out-of-place gloss. “Grab the corsages for me, and I think we’re done.”

Lumelle nearly tumbles off the seat when she leans back to grab the two corsages, barely catching herself as A’dewah cleans up what he can—part of him nearly sets to cleaning the rest of Lumelle’s vanity, messy as it is, but he manages to hold back. For now.

He pins the (rather extravagant) brightlily corsage into his own hair, the light blue kind of blending into his hair, and hands Lumelle the white one to place in her own. Once she’s got it all pinned down—well, he has to brush a few leaves away from her face; Valdis must have taken the other smaller one he’d made—he stands, and waits for Lumelle to follow suit before he carefully grabs her wrist, ignoring the chill of the thin rose gold bracelets Auphine had shoved onto her sister’s wrist.

“Now,” he says, lightly pulling Lumelle closer to the mirror and stepping next to her. “Try striking a pose, or—or, uh, doing something that feels just a tad exaggerated.” He nearly leaves off there, looking a bit at himself and the light smudge in his lipstick before realizing what might happen. “WITHOUT getting your sword or shield. Please.”

“Killjoy,” Lumelle grumbles, but she takes one look at the two of them in the mirror, and her brow furrows deep enough that A’dewah feels a slight panic rising that the creme and powder on her forehead might crack. “Why with the poses, though. What’s the point?”

He has to think about, well, why he does the silly poses in the mirror before he can answer. “C-confidence? I—mm, actually,” he mumbles, spinning in a small circle and watching the skirt of his dress shimmer, fabric glimmering. Maybe he was right to let Zaya help Lunya design… this. “It’s… nice?”

“Nice?”

“Yes,” he says, a bit braver now. “Something that has nothing to do with being ‘heroic’ or ‘strong’, maybe. Just… plain and silly. Normal-ish.”

Lumelle hums just before she moves quick, pumping her fist into the air with her stance widened enough that A’dewah can see she’s still wearing her normal boots just beneath the hem of her skirt. She’s plastered a goofy sort of grin onto her face, brightened by the bright red lip paint and the light bouncing off the mirror onto her.

“There you go!” He sways about again, planting one hand on his hip and swinging his other arm out with the swish of his dress, nervously grinning as Lumelle’s eyebrows raise under her bangs. There’s a few moments of quiet, almost like time is frozen while they stand in their silly poses; a bit awkwardly, seeing how his tail has swung out from behind him and Lumelle had managed to throw her braid over her shoulder. 

It hardly takes a moment for them to both be laughing, A’dewah nearly doubled over because oh gods did he just do that and Lumelle’s hyena-like laughter isn’t helping, either. Something so preciously silly about that exact moment sticks in the aether, singing of first snows and brilliant sunlight as A’dewah tries his best not to wipe at his eyes. He lets his hands adjust the hems of his sleeves instead while Lumelle falls back into her blustery nervousness, cautiously wiping tears from her eyes before it grows quiet again.

“I am… not sure I feel any better about this.” Lumelle’s hands bunch in her skirt, eyes looking downward. “Part of the reason I left, instead of taking another trial by combat, I suppose. Never liked it all.”

That’s… about what he suspected. 

“That’s alright,” he soothes, smoothing out his own dress. He’s likely going to regret the heels in a few bells, but oh well. At least he won’t have to crane his head as much if someone does decide to talk to him. “Everyone will probably be, uh, a bit tipsy anyhow. They won’t notice you too much, either.” He looks to Lumelle through the mirror, watching as she tilts her head back up, the corners of his mouth tugging at a nervous smile. He’s… not sure if he’s assuring her more than himself, really. “If you get nervous, you can come find me, probably hiding behind a—a planter, or something. The lilies the Ishgardians like to use are, uh, big enough to hide the two of us. Failing that—”

“We find Haurchefant and let his enthusiasm distract everyone so we can escape. Got it,” Lumelle says assuredly, nodding to herself in the mirror and finally standing straight.

A’dewah bites the inside of his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. “Right.”

With one last little motion—one he’s seen her do to pump herself up before a mission—-Lumelle strides out to the doorway with a certain bounce in her step that she didn’t have earlier, stomping as she did to Lunya and Valdis’ measuring tapes, the corset on her dress keeping her from moving around as she wished. A’dewah smiles. 

They would be alright.

[maskedmuses]

Merry Christmas Happy Starlight!

@defortemp​​ asked: "I - ..." Emmanellain fumbled, ears already turning a shade of red that denoted his embarrassment. He opened his mouth again, floundering, "I didn't know - what you'd like for Starlight, however! I have paid for a lance sharpening and cleaning at the armory, if - ... that pleases you." It was one less minuscule task Koya would have to tend to herself, and left her open to enjoy a meal and a rest before her adventure carried her elsewhere. "If not - ... you can ask for a refund," he mumbled, reaching up to scratch his nose sheepishly. / C:<

Emmanellain was one of the few men that Koya was able to look up to, physically. His voice garnered her attention, chin lifting so blue could meet blue, stirring a smile across her mien without realization, the timing beyond perfect as she had made her way down the winding paths of Ishgard, headed towards the Fortemps manor. Under her arm was a small box, wrapped in brown paper and seemed nothing more than a simple parcel in its appearance, it remaining there as she encroached upon his form, awaiting greeting and the reason behind his reddening ears.

The news itself—a gift—was something the smeared her smile, instead lips dropping apart in surprise, certainly eliciting his amendment to the offering. Koya’s hip cocked, her hand placed on the shifted curve, brows furrowing some. “You know why I haven’t been usin’ my lance lately?” She questioned, her voice a notch above seriousness before her beam broke out again.

“Because it had gotten dull!” She answered before he could flounder for an answer, her elation over it clear as day. “No way am I goin’ to refund somethin’ fuckin’ great like that. It’s perfect!” Koya was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement, the shifting of weight making her remember the package at her side, a glance shifting down to it as she settled fully on her soles.

“Man, it makes this stuff seem not enough.” A pout formed to her lips before she shifted her arms some, offering up the box towards him. “I didn’t know what you’d like either, but uh…I tried my best!” She almost sounded akin to boasting, a small puff of breath escaping her with confidence as she let him take it from her fingers.

Within was two gifts, one in a much smaller white box that was encircled by what appeared to be a leather bracelet. The smaller gift could be easily opened to reveal the linkpearl that lay within. Pristine and glimmering with a faint blue light, it was already operational. The leather band, however, rough around the edges, certainly handmade and not perfect in the least, but had an etching of what appeared to be akin to a feather pattern all along the outer edge of it.

A hand lifted up to rest under her ponytail, a sheepish expression causing her gaze to drift from his own, a small dusting of pink that could have been attributed to the cold coming to her cheeks. “I, uh, figured you needed your own linkpearl, so when I’m not in town, you can reach me. You know, if you wanted to talk, or somethin’. Or just, see what’s goin’ on.” Rubbing along the nape of her neck, Koya shifted her hips some, as if the posture itself would rise up the courage in her once more.

“And the other thin’ is an armlet you can wear under your sleeve. It has a phoenix feather inside of it—don’t ask how I got that—and should feel warm whenever you need it to.” Specifically made with one of Suzaku’s feathers, it was tied to his heart and the feelings there, Koya could feel a burn rising up her cheeks. “It’s only got a little magic in it, might’ve nearly conked out once tryin’ to fill it with mana, but that’s not important.” Her hand waved dismissively at the idea. “It’d be better if it had more and you can probably take it to a mage to do the trick if you really want to.”

Closing her eyes and swinging both hands up to fold behind her head, Koya turned away some, lifting her head a little to try and dismiss the emotions that had bubbled up within. “If you complain about how it looks though, I’ll deck you. I did my best, so no returns from me.”

[efrmellifer]

Conflicted

Etien woke to hands—pleasantly warm ones, but still—tugging at her, turning her.

Still only half-awake, she grumbled, swiping weakly at the hands on her upper arm, a slight hiss entering her voice as she tried to form words.

“Etien, it’s only me,” Aymeric soothed, one hand leaving her arm to smooth back her hair, coming loose from her braid again.

She woke more fully, eyes opening. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize,” he replied, sitting back. “I should have woken you a little more before I started moving you. But remember, the midwife said to lie on your side.”

“Was I on my back again?”

He nodded. “Easier to rise, I’d assume.”

“Getting up from any position is harder these days,” she said, a laugh folded into her tone as she tried to sit up. With some support from Aymeric and planting her hands behind her, Etien finally got herself upright, sighing. “Are Elezen infants really that large? Good gods.”

“Are Miqo’te kits not?” Aymeric had stepped away from the bed to dress for the day, but not before placing his pillow behind Etien’s back to prop her up.

“They develop in litters and our frames are smaller than Elezen women’s. So they have to be smaller. But I don’t have a frame of reference for comparison. Yet, anyway.”

“Neither do I, I’m afraid,” Aymeric sighed, discontented. “I was an only child who never knew his birth mother, and I never had the pleasure of a good relationship with my—ahem—progenitor, so I never really got up close and personal with babies.” He smiled. “Though that will change soon enough. In any event, are you uncomfortable? Are they that large?”

“It’s not actually that bad. We have moons to go before it should be that bad. It may well be that I haven’t been out and around as much, and it’s making my joints tighten up. Hard to tell when it’s all happening at once.”

“Well, you could take a walk through the Crozier. Perhaps the Firmament, if you promise not to got the Diadem. Or visit Fortemps Manor. Edmont will want to see you, I’m sure.” He thought. “Not much is really available to you in Saint Valeroyant’s Forum for now. The Proving Grounds might be a little too much, after all.”

Etien couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “I admit I don’t want to see Chocobos getting hurt, but you know I’ve seen worse. Or do you worry I’ll start a fight with the proprietors?”

“You have seen worse, but you do not have to on purpose.

“Fair enough.” She shrugged.

Aymeric continued. “But all that is for tomorrow and on. Estinien is supposed to be coming soon.”

“I’m having a visit from the Scions, too,” she added.

“All of them?”

She shook her head. “A delegation. I don’t know how many, or who, that means.”

Aymeric sighed. “Well, I hope that goes well for you.”

“I hope so, too. I doubt it will be anything too bad. They probably just want to keep me caught up on goings-on around them.”

“Did they all split up again, taking off to their own corners?”

“It certainly sounds that way,” she replied, sighing just a little. “But I won’t know until they tell me.”

Aymeric paused, kneeling next to the bed. “Please be honest with me, Etien.”

She lifted her gaze from the covers to look at him, nodding.

“Do you feel trapped here?”

“No! No. This is my house. This is my home—er, living with you is the home part. The house is a house. I like it, but we could be in something smaller and I wouldn’t mind. I am frustrated by the fact that I can’t really go too far, but that isn’t your fault. Just a result of the wanderlust being bred into me, I guess.”

Aymeric’s brow knit.

“My mother’s family were seafarers until she met my father. I wonder sometimes if she ever lusts for the sea. And then, I haven’t really been allowed to settle down. Running around Coerthas, forging across the Ruby Sea, stumbling my way across the rift. Getting comfortable everywhere, and never staying.” She broke eye contact finally. “But you don’t need to hear my ramblings about it again.”

He took her hand. “I want to hear what you have to say. Though I suppose I should make my way to the Congregation before Lucia gives me another scolding about timeliness and what kind of man--” he shook his head. “Before I leave you, I need to ask again—are you comfortable?”

“I am. This is only just noticeable. Time to lace things more loosely, start thinking about wearing my nightgown open from the breastbone down.”

“What a sight. When your milk comes, will you wear the whole thing open?”

She clicked her tongue. “Aymeric.”

He gave her a grin, followed by a kiss, and headed out of the room.

“You didn’t eat anything!” She called to his retreating footsteps.

“I will when I get there!”

“It had better be more than a teacake!”

Silence.

“Aymeric!”

He was already out the door, laughing into a brisk, bright day.

_

Estinien, as everyone had come to expect, let himself in, striding to the main bedroom like he had a mission.

“Why look, a dragoon has come to call,” Etien mused as she closed her book, freshly dressed and her hair combed, the frayed braid redone.

“I hadn’t meant to interrupt.”

“Oh, you didn’t. I wasn’t getting very far in this, anyway. Aymeric was right, it is a disappointing read.” She put it down and turned more fully toward him. “How are you today, Estinien?”

He wasn’t sure at first why he flushed at her question. It was simple, the polite yet genuine asking after his health. But the little smile it was delivered with, that was what had him feeling like a schoolboy favored by the teacher.

“Fine,” he answered honestly. “I had been wondering whether the nursery had been begun yet.”

“We’re still talking about that. I think I want the cradle right next to our bed, so I can feed them and soothe them without getting up.”

“Just you?”

She laughed. “There are two sides to the bed.”

“I see.”

“If you want to climb into bed with us some night, you can help us, too. Though I think yes, just me doing the feeding.”

They settled into silence for a while, Estinien watching the sunlight move across the floor, and up onto the bed. Etien had gone from reading to knitting, needles flashing as the Deepwood Green yarn went from a tight ball to rows upon rows of stitches between her wrists.

“Is that difficult?” Estinien asked eventually.

“Not anymore. It was when I was starting out. If I tried to do any fancy stitches, I imagine it would be still. But I do this single basic stitch over and over, and it turns into blankets.”

They both looked at the blanket she’d made for Starlight, folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

“Have you ever tried to make anything else?”

“No. Maybe I should. But up until now, at least, I’ve chosen to leave the complexity to… other arenas of my life.”

Like a flash, Estinien remembered Tataru and Alphinaud’s trial by combat. He hadn’t been present, but he’d heard Haurchefant’s account of it at the Forgotten Knight the night it had occurred, while Etien slept off the adrenaline crash. Just as well; if she’d come along, she would have been too modest for Haurchefant’s liking. They may well have argued, the way close friends (or siblings) did. Not to mention, if she’d been there, Aymeric wouldn’t have been half as obvious about how interested he’d been in the whole matter.

Complex, indeed.

“It’s fine knitting. From what I understand, Dae is making clothing for them anyway. And the Domans sent over a few outfits?”

“Ah. That they did,” Etien beamed. “Hien gave some sort of explanation in the letter. Something about children of such special parents should have special clothing, if I remember correctly.”

“Special parents?”

“Well. Those were his words.” Etien’s ears drooped.

The house steward came in then, with a brief knock on the door. “A visitor for you, my lady.”

“Should I leave?” Estinien asked.

Etien shook her head, and combined it with a shrug. “Not if you don’t want to. Uh, send them in, please?”

A familiar pair of red ears ducked past the doorway first.

“Ah. Isn’t this the man who was calling to you in the Ghimlyt Dark?”

“It is,” Etien said hesitantly.

Estinien leveled his gaze at G’raha. “What do you need?”

“Estinien, it’s okay. He’s my friend.

With a soft “hmph,” he moved to the chair at Etien’s vanity table, leaving the chair by the bed open for G’raha.

“I didn’t realize you had a guest already,” G’raha commented, settling into the chair. He was still slightly awed by the house, by the fact that he was welcomed into the home of his hero, but when he looked at her, he was starting to see Etien instead of Etien Mellifer, vaunted Warrior of Light.

In the cheek markings and crinkled corners of her eyes, he saw Etien, who wore flowers in her hair every chance she got. Who had spent so much time in Il Mheg swimming and eating Pixie apples, and always kept ink and parchment on her. Etien, avid reader, kind-hearted adventurer, and apparently a knitter, if the needles at her side and halfway through a stitch were an indication.

“Estinien comes to mind me every so many days, so Aymeric has less to worry about. I enjoy his company, so I don’t dislike being minded. He does raise a good question, though, G’raha—it’s good to see you, but what can I do for you?”

“Ah, yes. The Scions--” he swallowed, searching for words as his throat bobbed. “We found something,   from before the Sharlayan exodus. So, something of Master Matoya’s.”

“And the Gunbreaker, Astrologian, Academician and mages you have at your disposal haven’t gotten a good look at it yet?”

G’raha tipped his head. “Why… didn’t you say their names?”

“To ask what you need a bard for.” She folded her hands, then thought better of it and folded her arms, accenting the new (but slight) roundness of her body. “Are they not more capable than I am, based on that?”

“But they aren’t you, Etien.”

“I thought you said they had accepted my needing a break.”

G’raha’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “I did say that. And they did!”

Etien nodded. “But you hadn’t found anything yet.”

“...we hadn’t found anything yet,” he repeated, sounding defeated. “We wouldn’t want to leave you out.”

“I think I’m okay with missing this,” she responded. “I’ll be having my own adventure, after all.”

G’raha sighed. “I know this. I have known this. But still.”

“Did they put you up to this, G’raha? If so, who of them? Maybe I can convince Aymeric to let me come talk to them about it.”

“It wasn’t them putting me up to it, it was all of us agreeing we shouldn’t do this without you.”

“Even if I asked you to just do it?”

“What if we made very sure to keep you safe? You won’t have to lead the charge like you usually do.”

Etien took a deep breath as she groped in her mind and heart for an answer. She finally arrived at another question. “Is that all?”

“That is all I came to say.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Before he could get up and leave, Etien reached out and grabbed his wrist. “I don’t want you to keep leaving my house dejected. Or worse, thinking I don’t care about you—or any of the Scions. Please, have some tea with me.”

Estinien rose. “Would it be ready in the kitchen yet?”

“It should be,” Etien replied with a nod.

When the cups were poured, she sighed, taking a sip. “G’raha, I’d like you to tell me something. Something only you would know. Lyna told me that you had seen a vision of me, when you were checking in on everyone’s futures, to be sure they had aligned with what you had known to be true before. What did you see for me? Lyna wouldn’t say.”

“I saw almost exactly what you said. You’re going to have your own adventure as a mother. And knowing that, as well as knowing what I did to you before you arrived on the First, I wouldn’t dare try to push you to do this now. But I also cannot stop asking. We need you. I know you think that isn’t so, but it is. The Scions have always needed you. Even if they don’t say it, even if you didn’t feel it. You’re needed. By Eorzea. By the star.”

Etien took a deep breath, and held it for a moment before letting out a long sigh. “I’m getting tired. Estinien, can you make sure G’raha makes it out of here all right?”

“Of course.” As he passed by, he patted Etien’s hands. “Finish your tea and get some rest.”

G’raha felt more tense being paraded through and out of the Borel house by Estinien, but he was glad it just hadn’t come to fisticuffs. With the way Etien had reacted last time, and now with Estinien watching over both of them, he hadn’t expected tea and confirmation of their friendship still being intact.

But he couldn’t help but wonder what the Scions were going to do now.

She hadn’t said no, that was true. But she was not going to say yes.

_

The ending of every day was now even more similar to the beginning, Etien on her side as she and Aymeric caught up on their days without each other.

What a luxury. What a novelty. After so many days in the years before, where being apart meant staying apart, this was all they had wanted. And now they had it, night after night. Just another joy.

“So I hear it was G’raha Tia that visited again. What did he have to say?”

Etien’s ears flattened for a beat, then perked again, though not to their usual position. “Well, I wish he had only come to catch up. They all want me to come to the Dravanian Hinterlands, to go look at something they found of Matoya’s—the real Master Matoya, not Y’shtola’s alias from the First.”

“And you told him to remind them that you’re still on leave, right?”

“I did tell him, that, yes.”

With a gentle stroke of his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up so he could see her better. “But, my dearest? It sounds like there was more to it.”

“He was insistent that I’m needed. He knows how well that works on me—appealing to my sense of duty. Of obligation. He’s right. I’m the Warrior of Light. A tool of the star, same as Minfilia ended up.”

“No!” Aymeric shouted, fist curling in the bed sheets. “You’re a full-worthy being, and the woman I love, and I won’t stand to see you treated this way.”

He’d regretted the explosion as soon as his mouth had opened, but looking at Etien now, he only felt worse. Oh, Fury strike him down.

She was tensed away from him and eerily still, eyes wide and starkly green from being wet with held-back tears.

This was what Estinien had meant when he described her freezing in the Churning Mists, during the argument with Ysale. She looked like she was waiting for him to keep yelling at her. Or worse.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled suddenly, wiping at her eyes. “I wanted to say no to G’raha, but I couldn’t—the Scions have always— I’m sorry, Aymeric.”

He reached out, but thought better of it. How much worse would they both feel if he touched her and she shied away?

“You have no need to apologize,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now. “I’m the one who’s sorry. And the Scions should be, for putting pressure on you like that.” Silently, he added, and Ellifer Nuhn, for ever making you so afraid of someone who loves you raising their voice. “May I touch you?”

She nodded, her body relaxing as she was shepherded into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Etien. I should never had shouted. And I won’t again.” He rubbed her back, listening to her sniffle. Was it foolish that he half wanted to go directly to the Vault and ask to have a confession right now? But he didn’t need the forgiveness of Halone, nor of Her mouthpieces wandering the See. What he needed was to make things right with Etien.

“It’s all right. I can’t fault you for passion.”

“But you might for failing to protect you when you can’t protect yourself.”

“I would never. We’re capable adults.” Her arms tightened around him, so he held her all the tighter, too.

“I am a man of my word, and ‘love and cherish’ means keeping you as safe as I have the means to. Means not poking at scars until they bleed.”

“Old habits die hard, but love never dies,” she replied, cheeks still wet as she rested her head in the crook of his neck. “It really is all right. Thank you. I love you, Aymeric.”

“And I you. More than tongue can tell.”

“Then no need to try. But we’ll need to talk about the Dravania problem after we’ve gotten some sleep.”

“If you want. I could simply contact the Scions myself,” he offered, voice quieter still for how close they were.

“I want to think it out fully first.” Etien explained, “with no one waiting for an answer, nor anyone preemptively making my choice.

“A good decision.”

“Shh, we need to sleep now.”

Aymeric kissed the side of Etien’s head, then ran his fingers down her back again. The star did need her. But so did he.