#but they don’t see each other again until after the dragonsong war ends

[impossible-rat-babies]

I’ve been thinking about eyrie and lyse something bad lately omg

[worldformula]

complicated relationship with Aymeric you say 👀 I would love to hear about it

also do you have a blank version or link to the blank version of that “characters who are just like my WOL fr” chart it intrigues ms greatly. I love that it’s specific about what exactly the inspiration from the characters is.

Here’s a link to the .psd because the framing layers makes it a bit hard to use as a regular png. Go nuts!

As for Aymeric…

Long story short, they never fostered an actual real relationship before just getting in the nitty gritty of intimacy because it is my religious belief that Aymeric is deeply repressed like a Catholic maiden and Utushama kept just leaving for MSQ immediately the day after they’d fool around. Utushama assumed they were on the same page (this wouldn’t work because they have conflicting responsibilities) (this is also kind of an excuse, he’s starting to develop a pattern of starting something, ditching ASAP, and then using MSQ as a noble excuse) but they weren’t really. I love to pretend Lucia is mad at him for this because it made Endwalker kind of funny. Usual spoiler warning for everything ahead!

Short story long, after the Dragonsong War’s end, they kept things entirely professional including their dinner and dealing w the aftermath of it all but were slowly (and I mean SLOWLY) building a tension between them like it was a Victorian period drama. Like, a show of ankle would give Aymeric a heart attack at this point. So they had two days of building up to this that no one in the world could’ve possibly guessed was any kind of build up to anything followed by one night of Halone-dishonoring acts (initiated by Utushama because why not. Why not hit and run the beautiful President of Dragon Catholics City after you saved them all. Especially after increasingly escalating moments of barely repressed interest). And immediately after, without explanation or any warning, Utushama left for MSQ, with the assumption that they were both in agreement that they couldn’t have an actual relationship because one of them loves their country more than anything else in the world and the other is a traveling adventurer. He didn’t say this because it was so obvious to him but Aymeric was obviously left a little confused and feeling slightly abandoned but bigger things at stake, y’know.

And then they meet again when Ala Mhigo is liberated because all the Eorzean Alliance leaders are there and Utushama is feeling very disoriented and bad because Zenos just killed himself in front of him, denying him of any closure to the distress he’s been feeling for all of Stormblood. And they are once again very professional as if they hadn’t explored each other’s bodies that one time. Aymeric invites him to dinner again and when the subject of trying to define their relationship is brought up, Utushama deflects by hitting him point-blank with the “ok, do you want to do that again” and Aymeric is flustered enough by this that despite being a very savvy politician, the Catholic maiden part of him overrides the many slightly orange flags. Once again, Utushama slips away without warning immediately after.

They don’t speak again until right after the Ghimlyt Dark, wherein canon provided me a lovely moment of quiet between the two of them. Utushama, being injured, is then unable to escape from this conversation that Aymeric begins, wherein Aymeric himself first confesses to hoping to be something more serious, to which Utushama answers in a manner that is between bafflement and regret that they weren’t ever going to be a thing (because again, he thought they were on the same page about this). Aymeric is sad but can see the logic in this and admits that Utushama deserves someone who cares more about him than their political responsibilities, who could and would follow him to the ends of the earth. (There is no reason for him to be so self-deprecating on the matter because it’s not as if he were the one at fault for this, but Utushama just has a way of making people feel bad for wanting reasonable things from him. It’s kind of cruel of him but he also is entirely unaware that he’s doing this.) This is a fun bit of foreshadowing for me personally because this could mean anyone but should the monkey’s paw curl, that sure does describe a certain horrible prince he despises. But after accidentally doing all that to Aymeric, maybe he does deserve to be tormented. Just a little. I’ve been following a sort of narrative path wherein anyone who likes Utushama for being a hero figure can’t actually get with him for good because they’re enabling his bad habits and it’s going to end badly.

Anyway, all this made the Endwalker casting quests very fun because they just kind of josh around lightly and even reference their old fling without it being a whole thing and it feels like the weight of whatever they were doing is off Aymeric now so he’s able to be confident and normal again. If they ever fool around again post-Endwalker, it’s noticeably different because Aymeric has moved past the whole blushing maiden for the hero role. Utushama is admittedly kind of. Strangely sad to see him move past him but by then knows that it was probably for the best. It’s just hard for him to even metaphorically feel like he’s the one being left behind. And Lucia is no longer mad at him but it’s really funny to let him keep thinking she is!

So yeah, his relationship with Aymeric is kind of tangled and convoluted and despite indulging once or twice, he doesn’t actually seem to like talking about it beyond whatever’s professional because he’s just very private. I’ve no idea what the general consensus is on Aymeric and Estinien’s relationship but I imagine it was much more straightforward than this. Utushama inadvertently projects and assumes it was just as complicated based on the way Estinien talks about Aymeric in MSQ tidbits but I think it’s funnier if it was actually relatively tame and Estinien is just being dramatic.

[hylfystt]

tbh i think the reason leida and thancred didn’t work is just. how poorly they handled post-arr stuff and then. and then how mean they are after hw. like.

(spoilers through shadowbringers under the cut lmao)

so arr they’re instant besties and flirt and have a bit of a will-they-won’t-they but after arr and the possession thing. leida tries but thancred deflects and she can never take back the moment where she flinched under his touch one evening back at the rising stones — and it wasn’t even him!! it was because of, well, everything!! she was so on edge!! but she flinched from him and that hurt. deeply. because in his mind it's like...ah yes, these hands that have hurt her and nearly killed her. of course. of course.

(and i think like. thancred projects his loss of trust in himself onto others and that hurts leida, as much as she understands, and they just. there’s a rift that their plastered smiles just can’t mend. and neither is sure how or is ready to make that effort.)

and then everything happens in ul’dah, and leida thinks she’s failed everyone and that she loses him. and so she throws herself into the dragonsong war and into haurchefant’s arms (who she already started falling for before, which adds additional complications) and.

and when leida and thancred reunite, after haurchefant and minfilia, they’re both grieving and angry and so, so hurt and instead of leaning on one another, they fight. thancred picks at her wounds, knowingly or not, and leida refuses to see his own grief and blows up at him and. they don’t speak. not really. not until the end of stormblood when maybe, just maybe, we can try being friends again.

ofc it’s not until shb that they really do make up, after thancred finally pulls his head out of his ass and gives ryne her name and the respect that she deserves. god leida was so angry with him for how he was treating ryne! i think the rest of the scions had nearly accepted that the two of them were just. never going to be friends again!

but they do find common ground again, and she forgives him and he forgives her and gods. she’s missed him so much, her friend — her best friend even! — and she’s so glad to have him back, for all that has passed between them.

but by now the damage to their prospective romance has been done, and leida is in love with aymeric — and don’t even get her started on the whole ardbert thing — and their time to try has come and gone. but that’s okay! they love each other anyways! just….not like that.

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2022 //ffxivwrite info//Prompt list//Characters//master post// Prompt seven: Pawn | noun; a person used by others for their own purposes/a chess piece of the smallest size and value. | Word count: 475 Characters: N’noah Wiloh, Emmanellain de fortemps, with mentions of characters belonging to @circusredmage and @tokki-yue CW: none Notes: Set after the end of the Dragonsong War in Heavensward but no major spoilers. Figured I’d give a little fluff since the last few things have been a bit heavy. Formatting will be fixed once I’m at my computer and not a phone. ——-

“Checkmate.”

N’noah sat back in her chair, crossing her legs and arms as her lips curled into a smug smile. Emmanellain sat across from her, staring down at the chessboard dumbfoundedly as he tried to make sense of what just happened. Outside, a snowstorm raged but it was quite cozy in the Fortemps’s palor with a large fire crackling in the hearth and everyone gathered together for a quiet evening to relax.

Quiet, until Emmanellain loudly proclaimed he was the chess master in his family and challenged N’noah to a game, despite Kien and Tokki’s strong discouragement. But with Bastian and Saraphina baiting him and telling him about N’noah’s past winning streak, the younger Fortemps was not easily swayed.

And so while N’noah and Emmanellain settled across from each other to begin the game, Kien, Tokki, and Alphinaud took their places behind the Elezen to watch while Bastian and Saraphina took a seat behind the Miqo’te. Blaise returned just shortly after the game begun with the tea tray for everyone and sat down next to Alphinaud, intrigued as Kien quickly filled her in on what she missed.

The game ended as soon as it began. After a mere four moves, N’noah had her bishop and her queen diagonally from Emmanellain’s king which hadn’t even moved.

Emmanellain had to do a double take just to make sure he was seeing things correctly. “Wha—but—how?!” He looked back up at N’noah, mouth agape. “We’ve only just begun!”

“Experience, old boy,” N’noah giggled as she leaned forward, folding her hands on the table and resting her chin atop them. She watched in amusement as Emmanellain tried to recount his moves, picking up various pawns as he did so. Kien sympathetically clapped his shoulder with a silent ‘I told you so’ while the other three exchanged looks of amusement.

“Up to your old tricks again Noah?” Saraphina snickered but only loud enough for her cousin and Bastian to hear.

Bastian shook his head at the seeker with a smirk. “One of these days, you’re going to get caught.”

N’noah feigned a look of innocence as she twisted around in her chair to meet Bastian’s deadpan expression. “Mayhap, but I didn’t cheat this time, swear it.”

Bastian crossed his arms in disbelief. “Really? Show me then.”

N’noah rolled her eyes and turned back to face the board, gathering her small pile of sacrificed pieces and placing them back on the board. “Bastian doesn’t believe I played a clean game,” she loudly proclaimed, gaining the attention of the room again. “So Emmanellain, I challenge you to round two!”

Emmanellain groaned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” Even so, he set up his pieces again and made his first move.

N’noah arched a brow in amusement—he made the same opening mistake twice. She shot a playful glare back at Bastian. “Watch closely now. I’ll win this in six moves.”

Sure enough, six moves later and a sacrificed queen, N’noah curled his lips into a smile and sat back in satisfaction.

“Checkmate!”

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #24 - Across the Room

Beam - ‘to smile radiantly or happily’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The ballroom of the Fortemps manor was filled with excited chatter, members of every high house, and some of the people of the Brume all happily talking and laughing together as one. Never in the long history of Ishgard had so many people of so many different factions been gathered together in harmony enjoying themselves, and now thanks to the end of the Dragonsong War, not only were man and dragon in harmony once more, but high born and low born too shared a peace as one nation. It warmed Katsum’s heart to see everyone laughing and smiling, with no harsh words of judgment or discrimination being passed between others. How it reminded her of how her home kingdom once was, how joyous the festivals and parties would be, and it made her happy to see that Ishgard was growing to be just the same.

“You seem especially happy this evening, Katsum,” The blonde Miqo’te’s ears perked up as she heard Y’shtola speak, looking over to see the white mage gently sipping at her glass of wine, “And don’t make the same joke that Thancred did of ‘Are you sure you aren’t seeing things’. Your aether tells me all I need to know.”

“Come now, you knew I had to,” Thancred grinned from beside her, though it became sheepish when Y’shtola gave him a look, so he looked to Katsum before he could get himself in more trouble, “Anyway, we’ve been noticing you smiling at him all evening.”

Katsum’s eyes widened, “Him?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Thancred chuckled, “I suppose I should have guessed that.”

The Warrior of Light’s ears twitched as she narrowed her eyes, “Looking at who exactly? I’ve been looking at everyone.”

“Yes, but your eyes linger on Ser Aymeric a whole lot more than they do anyone else,” Y’shtola’s lips quirked up into a grin, “But don’t worry, he’s been stealing glances too. In fact, he’s looking this way now.”

Katsum nearly spun around to look over and sure enough, from across the room, her eyes met with his. Ser Aymeric was surrounded by the heads of the house of lords and the house of commons both, all happily chatting and discussing small topics to bring up at the next gathering. While he was at the center of their conversations, when they would speak amongst themselves, Aymeric’s eyes turned to her, just as hers had been whenever she’d scanned that side of the room. Now that their gazes met, he beamed at her, the most radiant smile she’d ever seen directed at her before. It made her fur stand on end and a dusting of red heated up her cheeks. She tried to smile back, yet her embarrassment at being caught by not only Y’shtola and Thancred, but Aymeric himself made her feel shy as she instead smiled softly and fiddled with the skirt of her dress with one hand while she waved lightly at him. He chuckled at her, she assumed, though he did it in time with the others to not draw attention to what he was looking at, waving back as his gaze returned to the men and women around him.

Katsum sighed with relief as she composed herself to turn back to Y’shtola and Thancred, finding them leaning closer to her and eyeing her carefully. She blinked and narrowed her eyes, her stoic expression resurfacing as it always did, “Can I help you?”

Thancred scoffed, “You’ve got that expression change down to perfection as always. Impossible to see what you are thinking...if we didn't know you that is,” He lifted his glass of wine and downed the rest of it with a smirk.

Y’shtola nodded with him, “Tell me when are you two going to start seeing each other? That is if you aren’t already,” She leaned closer to Katsum and whispered, “Are you…?”

The paladin’s heart jumped, yet she disciplined her expression to remain unreadable as it was now, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Mmhmm,” Y’shtola sat back again, taking a long sip of her wine again, “Of course you don’t.”

In truth, Katsum and Aymeric had been seeing each other for a few months now, ever since that day the True Brothers attacked the refugees of the Brume fires; the same day she’d leaped from the top of the Vault to catch that girl midair, and Vidolfnir saved the both of them. That night, Aymeric had called her to his office in the Congregation, and what started as him angrily scolding her for risking her life so much ended in the two of them confessing their feelings towards one another. They had also promised to keep their relationship a secret until a better time to announce it came along as they had been in the middle of ending the bloody war at that point. Now, the war was over, and new developments were beginning to draw the Scions back to their home in Mor Dhona, and they still had not told everyone of their secret. Though at this rate, they might not have to as it seemed Thancred and Y’shtola were already on to them.

“Katsum? Come back to us,” The warrior blinked as Y’shtola waved her hand in front of her face, “You must have been in quite some deep thought just now. What were you thinking about?”

Katsum blinked and turned her eyes to the crowd around them again, watching Tataru snatch a wine glass out of Alphinaud’s hand before he could take a drink, “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I see. Ah, Ser Aymeric, hello!” Y’shtola looked over Katsum’s shoulder, and the warrior whirled around with her tail lifting, only to find no one standing behind her and hearing a giggle of laughter from the two behind her.

Katsum’s tail lashed about as she turned back again, “That was rather naughty of you Y’shto-” Katsum froze as her eyes did not meet with the white, empty eyes of the other Miqo’te woman, but rather the suited chest of a much taller gentleman. Her gaze moved up slowly to meet Ser Aymeric’s smiling face and Katsum’s blush returned. Her ears fell a little as her shyness returned, “Oh, Ser Aymeric, hello.”

The raven-haired Elezen chuckled, bowing lightly to her, “Forgive me, I could not resist.” He straightened again and looked her over, “You look beautiful tonight, my friend.”

Katsum glanced down at the deep red dress she wore, one styled like those worn in Thavnair in autumn, the long sleeves, bodice, and skirt all lined with thick wool that could keep anyone warm in the frigid air of Coerthas. At first, it had felt so odd to wear a dress and corset again after spending her days exploring Eorzea and beyond in her various suits of armor, yet after a few moments, she had forgotten how much she had missed wearing her dresses. Now that she was looking at her so warmly, taking in her every detail, she almost felt exposed. Her gaze fell to the floor as she clasped her hands in front of her with a shy smile, her tail swishing around her skirt, “Thank you,” Suddenly realizing she should compliment him as well, she glanced back over to look him up and down, the sight of his dashing black suit and tie with a white shirt and the addition of his royal blue sash hanging down from his shoulder to his hip like always only making her blush darken, “You look very handsome yourself. “‘Tis good to see you out of your regalia for once.”

She heard him chuckle, then felt him take her hand as her ears perked and she watched him stare straight into her eyes and gently kiss the back of her hand, “I can say the same of you, my lady.”

Oh, Heavens, take me...She thought to herself, somehow biting back the words from being spoken out loud. She managed to steel herself enough to give him a smile that slowly grew the longer they stared at one another. Someone behind Aymeric cleared their throat, however, and Katsum’s trance was broken as her blush faded. Aymeric moved to the side as a smirking Y’shtola and Thancred came into view again.

“Master Thancred, and Mistress Y’shtola, I hope you both are having a pleasant evening as well?” Aymeric replied, and Katsum couldn’t help but envy his ability to shift back into his nobleman's voice just like that.

The midlander had found another glass of wine to drink as he swirled it around and nodded, “Oh yes, indeed. It is always a good time watching the crowds.” He winked at Katsum when he said that, or she assumed he did as the cloth over his other eye kept one hidden from her. Still, the blonde Miqo’te’s tail lashed about as she narrowed her eyes.

“Full glad am I to hear it,” Aymeric nodded, “I will ask, would you two mind if I borrowed Lady Katsum for a bit?” Katsum’s fur stood on end, yet she bit her tongue to keep her composure.

“Of course, please,” Y’shtola smirked, “She’s been standing here all evening waiting for someone to ask her to dance too.” She winked.

“I see. Well then,” Aymeric turned to her and held out his hand, “My lady, would you care to dance?” Why did he have to be so suave about it? And so graceful and princely in his movements. Katsum could have melted right in her spot there and she would have accepted her fate entirely.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to move, taking his hand as she lifted her skirt slightly with the other and curtsied, “I would be honored to dance with you, Ser Aymeric.”

He smiled and gently pulled her closer to him, holding out his arm for her to take which she did. Katsum ignored Y’shtola and Thancred’s cooing as they stepped away from them, hiding her face behind Aymeric’s arm as he led her to the dance floor.

He glanced down at her and beamed again happily as he whispered, “So much for keeping our interest for one another in a low profile.”

Katsum gasped and whispered back, “Says the man who’s been watching me all night as well!” He laughed again and Katsum turned her eyes to the dancing couples they were heading towards, “Aymeric, it’s been years since I danced...”

“Not to worry,” He placed a hand on hers where she held his arm to draw her sapphire eyes back to his icy blue ones, “Just follow my lead, I’ve got you.”

Oh, Heavens, AGAIN?!

“O-ok,” She nodded nervously, taking a deep breath to compose herself and try and find her confidence again, “I trust you.”

He smiled and patted her hand, pulling them out amongst the other couples as she followed his movements to prepare for their dance.

Yes, Katsum was sure they would not need to tell a soul themselves about their relationship, because everyone in the room could surely, surely, already see. And if they couldn’t, they were truly blind.

[sootcloak]

Crow’s Shadow: Repair Required

The first part of a short, serial-style work I’ve been cranking away at for far too long. This is part one of a (planned) three-part series. You can find the second part, Carrion Circle [Here]. I’ll add another link to the third part once it’s up. Beware of some major spoilers for Stormblood if you’ve not gotten through it yet, and some general spoilers for the MCH quest kinda. Lastly, if you’re a purist when it comes to in-game lore, you should be warned that I take some creative liberties in regards to the character around whom this blog is centered. Also I hate this hellsite’s text post coding, it makes the formatting look so goddamned wrong.

3064 words, featuring Hilda the Mongrel, Rostnthal the Reborn. Centered around a wounded OC, a tense cross-country trip, and the looming specter of a dangerous foe.

    Hilda stares with a rare, dumbfounded expression on her face. Curled in a ball on her old, ratty armchair is a familiar, Lalafellin woman. Her sickly, pale skin, greying blonde hair, and scarred face were unmistakable. Vavara had become a common sight around Foundation ever since the gates were opened after the Dragonsong war. Her work alongside the Manufactory and Lord Stephanivian was shrouded in some level of discretion, but it was no secret that she was an expert in Garlean-style magitek.

    But the whispered words which surrounded the woman seemed an understatement, if her eyes were to be believed. It was rare to find Vavara out of her usual Company-style overcoats. The few times she was caught out of uniform, she was in battle-ready armor instead. Now Hilda understood why. Her body, small and compact as it is, is almost entirely mechanical. Covered in intricate layers of dull, grey plates and brassy webbings of cogs, she looks not unlike the tools and machines of Idyllshire. Like clockwork muscles and cable tendons, her body is simultaneously relaxed and completely rigid. Here and there, where the metal fades, she can still see skin. Sickly, near-grey, and oddly textured like a doll’s porcelain, but still skin. Tangled in a blanket, eyes shut, and body snoring in strange, buzzing whirrs, it takes a few moments of shock to realize two more things.

    First, Hilda hadn’t ever told Vavara where she lives. Nor had she given permission for the huntress to remain with her.

Second, one of Vara’s arms is missing. Just gone. A bare, brass socket lies exposed to the air where it would meet her left shoulder. Hilda glances around, but the limb is nowhere to be seen. There is, however, a note on the end table besides the table. The messy, big letters on the page are of an immediately recognizable hand.

        Hilda,

    Vavara was out testing one of Stephanivian’s new gizmos last night. Something went wrong, it’s all a bit fuzzy until we can look at the damned equipment, but it blew up in her arms. She soldiered on as well as you’d expect from her, but when we caught up to check on her we found her in shambles. We were all as surprised as you probably are - what with all the metal bits and all. Save for Stephanivian, that is. Seems he was already aware of her illness condition state whatever you call that. She was adamant that she not be seen like this, so we needed a place to keep her where untrusted eyes wouldn’t find her.

    So I borrowed a key from Joye and let her in. She should be asleep until tomorrow morning, or at least that’s what Stephanivian says. He’s making replacement parts for her damaged bits, but he couldn’t give me an exact time to give you as to when they’ll be done. I’ll have Joye run over as soon as he has an estimate.

    I know it’s a good bit to ask of you, but we all owe her and hers a solid turn. This is a good chance to make good on that. Please look after her for a bit, and don’t let her run off and do anything dangerous, no matter how angry she may look. She’s too busted up, at least based on how we found her, to really argue with you.    

    Keep her safe for now,

    Rostnthal

    Hilda’s hands crease the paper, her eyes drifting back and forth between it and the sleeping woman. 

    “Well shite. There went my plans.”

    Vavara’s eyes open to the dim, flickering light of a nearby hearth. Her body hums with angry, buzzing pain. As she takes in a ragged, grinding breath her eyes scan around the unfamiliar room. She can feel the damage all throughout her body. She can feel the way her breathing hitches every three-and-a-half seconds. The way her right arm can’t rotate exactly as it should. The way her eyes won’t focus. Her ears are ringing, ever so slightly. 

    There’s dust in the air, quite a lot of it. The furniture strewn about the stone room is old, patched, and covered in a thick layer of dust. The armchair she’s nested in leans to one side, one of the legs having been replaced by a few stacked stone bricks. The wood floor is rough, coarse, and looks like the kind which would give splinters just for standing on it. The hearth, a simple stone fireplace built into one wall, is surprisingly clean. The ashes are swept, the firewood is fresh. The fire is painfully bright. The heavy rugs thrown beneath some of the seating in the cramped, dusty living space are all torn and resewn. Her eyes trail to the bare walls, where a series of hangers stand.

    Through blurred sight, she can see a leather jacket and a rimfire hanging in it’s harness. From color alone, it’s clear they’re neither Vavara’s old service overcoat or her custom revolver. A wave of cold anxiety washes through her, her feet finding the floor and stumbling towards the door. 

    She only makes it a few feet. One of her legs crumples at the knee with a disheartening, metallic crunch. She bites her lip, forcing back a whimpering cry before it can rise in her chest. Instead, she takes a few gasping breaths, each huff sounding like a music box turning through broken cogs. Finally, she gets up the strength to push herself up to her feet again.

    She dully registers quick, urgent footsteps coming from behind her. A steady, insistent hand finds its way just beneath her arm. The tense springs fused with half-dead, ceruleum-greyed skin have a sickening texture, like that of a corpse held together by staples and rope.

    “You’re too hurt to be runnin’ about. Ye’d best come along.” Hilda says, hiding the way her throat closed in a queasy, silent gag. Vavara’s remaining arm twists back, trying to grasp at Hilda’s arm. It clicks and creaks, something inside the joint protesting with quiet, metallic groans.

    “Hey.” Hilda pulls and twists her around. Their eyes lock for a brief moment. Vavara’s dull, foggy eyes sparking with a quick moment of recognition.

    “Hilda?” Her voice is a surprisingly deep rasp. The  grasping hand goes still, it’s steel claw-tipped fingers relax. “Is that you?”

    “Who else? Let’s get you back to the chair.” They shuffle back to where Vavara woke. After grabbing an old crate and dragging it in front of the worn armchair, the two sit next to each other. Hilda sucks in a breath, and breaks the brief, momentary silence.

    “I imagine things feel a bit rough. Been on the bad end of an explosion once or twice myself. Here, read this. It’ll do some of the explainin’ for me..” She hands the crumpled letter from Rostnthal to her, waiting quietly as it’s opened back up. Vavara’s eyes slowly, carefully track across each messy line of text. When she looks up to Hilda again, the other woman is already speaking.

    “Joye came by earlier today, while you were still out. Said parts were being manufactured, but some things needed to be brought in from out the Holy See. It’ll have to get cleared by the Temple Knights, checked for contraband and the like. All said and done, it’ll take about three weeks for them to get all your uh… Parts?” She looks to Vavara for confirmation. There’s a single, quiet nod.

    “Yeah, it’ll take about three weeks for them to get all your parts made. Till then, you’re gonna need someone to watch your back, I’d imagine. I know one of your friends has an arrangement with Count Fortemps, so if you’d prefer-”

    “No. I’ve no intent on relying upon his charity. I have not earned it.” Vavara’s voice is a steady, rasping hiss. No malice or ill-will is born in the words, just a stubborn, quiet kind of pride.

    “It’s not always about whether or not you’ve earned it, just-” The glare Hilda gets before she can finish is petrifying.

    “Fine, fine. You can stay here, then. Can’t promise I’ll be here all day, but you’re resourceful, and so long as I get you a cane you could even get around by the looks of it.”

    “No.” Vavara shakes her head.

    “What? Then where will you stay?” Hilda says, eyeing her up with concern. Vavara’s face is a knitted, frustrated mess barely concealed by her usual stoicism. Her narrowed eyes, knitted brow, and curled lip speak volumes. It was rare for her to emote at all, let alone so clearly.

    “I was only meant to be in Ishgard for two days, at most.” A strange, tense note rides in Vavara’s voice. Concern, or outright fear? Hilda hadn’t seen her like this since she’d returned from Ghimlyt, spending days on end beside the Warrior of Light’s bedside, waiting for him to awaken. Guilt-racked and uncertain. When her voice picks back up, it’s a mess of anxiety and fear. Each word comes out faster, not raising in volume but in intensity.

    “I cannot stay here. I have to return. I need to-” She stops herself, coming to a sudden and abrupt halt. With a clenched jaw, squinted eyes and a tense neck. she pulls a breath in. The tension does not leave her, resting on her shoulders and in her jaw.

    “Thank you for watching over me.” Vavara says, opening her eyes to match Hilda. “I will need that cane. I have a journey to make. Please tell Stephanivian I will return to collect the parts when I am able.”

    “Now hold on.” Hilda squares her shoulders. Her eyes unwaveringly stare into Vavara’s. 

“You’re barely able to see straight. It took you near a full minute to read through a half-page letter. You had to ask if it was me. I don’t remember looking much like another half-breed.” A potent frustration rises in Vavara’s body, but before it can exit in a shout, Hilda continues, Brume accent kicking into her words as she grows more insistent.

    “I’ll be coming with ye. I’ve deputies with the Hounds for this exact kind of situation. And before you try and tell me I’m not, I’d remind ye that I’ve already seen why yer always either in battle-gear or a great-coat. Whatever secrets yer keeping still, ye can keep them. None of my business. But yer health? All the Hounds’ve had their skins saved by ye at least once, meself included. I owe you this much, at least.” Hilda stands as she finishes speaking, walking across the room to wear her jacket and rimfire are hung. She snags them in one hand, turns and gives a confident smirk.

    “So let me just run and get that cane.”

    She’s out the door before Vara can muster a reply.

    Later that evening, the pair stand outside the Gates of Judgement. Vara’s shrouded in her overcoat, her usual brimmed cap pulled tight over her head, greying blonde hair spilling out of it in messy tangles. Beside her, Hilda holds the reins of two birds as they’re hooked up to a small wagon. Some traveling supplies, a small smattering of goods, and some specialized supplies Stephanivian rushed to prepare all sit in nondescript, covered bundles.

    “You shouldn’t come with me. You have work here.” Vavara says. For perhaps the first time, Hilda notes how her breath doesn’t make mist in the cold air. She can’t help but wonder if her instinct was right, if the woman she’s known for years now, who’s saved her time and time again, is just a corpse pulled by metal marionette strings.

    She casts the thought from her mind.

    “And I’ve pressin’ debts to settle with you. It took no small amount of talking to convince Joye not to tell Rostnthal we were goin’. Else you’d have two peepin’ nannies.” Hilda’s forces a grim laugh.

    “It’s dangerous.” The statement hits like a sack of bricks. There was little anyone within the Warrior of Light’s circle deemed worthy of such a warning. Least of all the woman who frequently gives him a run for his money. 

    “Always is.” Is all Hilda can muster in response.

    “You should stay. I don’t want you hurt.” The words come out slow, still rasping with that metallic hiss under the wind. Barely audible.

    “I can’t protect you.” Vavara’s hand goes to the empty sleeve on her left. She looks up with foggy, dull eyes. Were they always so dim? She’s one of the Dunesfolk, aren’t their eyes supposed to be like glossy gems? Again, she casts the thought away.

    “Please. Stay.” Vavara’s words sound pleading.

    “Eh- ‘Ilda?” A deep, rumbling voice smashes the growing anxiety in Hilda’s chest. Heavy, crunching footfalls grow louder from behind. Both she and Vavara turn to look at a familiar, salt-stained face.

    “An’ it is!” Rostnthal reaches them in no more than three strides, his excitement plain on his face.

    “An’ Vavara’s ‘ere too, I see.” He briefly glances to the cart, still being loaded.

    “Ye headin’ somewhere?” It’s not really a question. His eyes fall onto Vavara’s. “Ye sure yer fine to be travelin’?”

    She nods.

    “Good!” He guffaws, a single loud bark of a laugh. “If yer good enough to be out-n’-about, then so am I! I’ll keep with ye. After all, it was cuz I was too drunk to test the prototype cannon that you ‘ad to. I get hurt like that, chirugeons patch me up over a couple nights. You?” He gives an awkward, knowing shrug.

    “So, it’s my fault yer in this mess. I’m comin’.”

    It isn’t really negotiable. Even as Vavara’s takes a rattled breath to retort, he’s already stepped up into the cart proper. 

    The chocobo-hand stands up from besides the cart,

    “All good to go!” He shouts over the wind.

    The three step up, and Hilda spurs the birds on towards Gyr Abania.

    “Ye packed some booze, yeah?”

    Vavara shakes her head. The groan he makes can be heard from the Gates.

    Rostnthal’s voice echoes along the snowy paths of Coerthas, oft-untrodden paths suddenly as lively as a back-alley bar. He’s taken mindful, measured swigs of his flask. He snagged some few supplies from Dragonhead at a painful price, but he had very little considering the length of the journey. Sensing the growing tension, Rostnthal had sung every diddy he knew at least twice from his spot lying in the back of the cart. He’d sung the one about the slaver at least four times, and the one about the Admiral more than eight.

    “So what’s all the urgency about?” Hilda’s question breaks through the bars of off-key song. 

    “I left someone in the wild mountains, where I take my rests between work. He is unskilled, though his training has shown promise. An old enemy of mine resurfaced during the Ala Mhigan Rebellion, and has since been hunting me, and I him. Should I leave my student in one place too long, he’ll be found. And he’ll be killed.” Her words are clipped. Rostnthal’s singing stops.

    “Y’took an apprentice? So the ever-cold Lady Ashenheart does have some warmth left in ‘er.” He sounds genuinely perplexed. “An’ here I thought ye were all business and bad blood with the Empire. Rumors’d’ve me believe ye’d never have time for teachin’.”

    Her gaze towards him could curdle milk. He just laughs his guffawing laugh, gently slapping her good shoulder with one hand.

    “My strength comes at a cost, unlike that of my peers. It requires that I rest for long periods of time after difficult excursions. In recent times of repose, I took to training three such students in total. Two of whom have long passed beyond a need for my guidance, if they ever truly did need me at all.We have not spoken in some time, I have no fear for them. The man who hunts me will not seek them. My current student, though, is untrained, reckless, young, and a danger to himself more than his opponents.” Her voice lapses in and out of nostalgia and strict concern as she speaks, eyes shutting as she speaks.

    “Sounds like a handful of a kid. An’ this ‘unter. Ye think he might meet us there?” Rostnthal’s voice dips into a grim resolve.

    “I do.”

    “Care to share, or are we just going in blind as newborns?” Hilda says, eyes locked on the road and her surroundings. The sun is low, and shadows stretch across the road cast by trees and stones and looming mountains. It will be dark soon.

    “His name is Llain. He and I were once… Compatriots. He is possessed of a strength similar to mine. I will admit freely, he is better suited to it than I have ever been. He took to steel, ceruleum, and magitek as a bird does to flight. He has done so more safely, and more efficiently, than I have. We have not crossed blades directly for too long, to make any assumption on his methods now as opposed to the man he once was would be dangerous. All I can say is this: A direct confrontation is something we will not win. He is a worthy and cunning foe for even the mightiest among us.” Vavara says. Each word is slow, methodical.

    “So we just grab the kid an’ make dust?” Rostnthal thumbs at the cap on his flask, glancing up at Vara with his good eye. She just nods. It’s enough.

    Vara’s hand rests uneasily on the grip of her revolver. In her nostrils she can smell smoke and oil and flame. In her eyes, though snow and tree and stone race past her, all she can see is a burning Castrum and a vengeful shadow in the fire.

    How simple her escape felt then. How powerful those first, few, small implants made her feel. Her clockwork muscles tense. Perhaps if she’d been more careful. If she hadn’t allowed herself to become so gravely wounded so frequently, she would still-

    A tap on the shoulder shakes her out of the old memory. She looks up at Hilda, whose eyes are still locked forward.

    “We need to go through the night, or should we rest?” She asks, tone all business.

    “You rest. I’ll drive.” Vavara answers. Hilda just groans, before stepping awkwardly, carefully into the back next to Rostnthal and snagging a fur blanket from one of the many bundles.

    Rostnthal waits a while, and then starts to sing again. Fewer lively, old tavern diddies, and more of the songs skalds would sing when night came to call.

[fairwindsandblueskies]

A White Lie

Western Coerthas, the sight of many battles throughout the Dragonsong War. The pure white snow that blanketed the land lay stained with spots of crimson among the scattered bodies of both soldiers and beast alike from its most recent skirmish. Locke wandered past with his gloved hands tucked away into the pockets of his coat for some modicum of warmth as he cast his gaze out across the carnage while the snow crunched beneath his boots with every step he took. 

There were others doing the same between knights and chirugeons who set out to collect the bodies of the fallen and to aid the wounded. By now, many of them were scattered across the battlefield tending to their duties and Locke was prepared to do the same until he noticed a shaky hand rising in the distance. It rose into the air and lingered for no more than a second or two before collapsing back into the snow and within moments Locke found himself sprinting towards it. He stumbled across the snow, and nearly lost his footing in his haste only to uncover the grisly sight of a bloody, one-armed knight laying before him.

The knight’s long blonde hair lay in a splayed mess across the surface of the snow as he cast a blank gaze up toward the cloudy skies above. His skin was deathly pale, and even now blood still continued to seep from the wound of his missing right arm, staining the nearby snow. Slow, labored breaths left his cracked lips, and he weakly turned his head in the direction of the black haired Hyur the moment he noticed the man’s arrival. And not too far away lay the beast that claimed his arm. A lesser dragon with a chipped sword poking through its open maw that lay lifeless against the snow. 

Locke knew right from a glance that the man had lost too much blood. Saving him was a lost cause. He knew that deep down, but that didn’t stop him from trying as he quickly knelt down beside the injured knight. “What’s your name?” Locke said out loud toward the man in question while fishing out his tools from the satchel he kept at his side only to be met with silence. 

“You’re looking a bit rough, but I’ve treated worse. Stay with me now, ya hear? I’ll get you through this.” But in the end, they were nothing more than empty words. This knight was too far gone now. Even if Locke could stop the bleeding, they were too far away to get him back in time for a proper transfusion.  

“Gervaise.” The knight muttered in a weak voice. “Aye?”

“My name… my name is Gervaise.” But a rough cough soon left his lips no sooner after he uttered those words. 

“Gervaise, huh? It’s a good name. I want you to rest easy for now. You’re in good hands.” Locke said reassuringly as he tightened a leather band over what remained of the stump he had for a right arm to try and stop the blood. He was only delaying the inevitable at best. He knew that. He knew it right from a glance. This man was too far gone to be saved, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to leave. 

And then came that weak voice again. One that broke through the silence as the man brought his shaky hand up into the air once more. “Doc… doc, am I gonna die? Please… I don’t want to die. Not yet. I’m not… I’m not ready.”  

And in that moment, Locke slipped the red glasses he wore from his face and shoved them into his coat pocket before reaching out with both hands to grasp the man’s gloved hand between his own. The Hyur’s hand tightened against the knight’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze as his stared down into the knight’s hazel eyes.

“Easy now, Gervaise. You’re gonna be alright.” It was a blatant lie, but one spoken with a straight face uttered with all the confidence of a man who lived much of his life as one. 

“I’m scared, doc. I’m scared… I want to go home. See my friends. My mother. I don’t want to make her cry.... By the fury, I’m scared.” 

And Locke listened as he continued repeating those words again and again like a mantra. I’m scared, he said while each repetition of those words grew softer. 

“I know,” Locke murmured back in response as he squeezed the man’s hand between his own once more. “It’s gonna be okay, Gervaise. I’m gonna get you home one way or another. I’m not gonna let you die in this frozen shithole.” 

Another lie, of course. But one that seemed to calm him for a moment as the knight fell silent with nothing more than the sound of his harsh, labored breaths to fill the void.

“This was my second battle. Only my second… but I’m so… so tired now. Everything is heavy. I….”

“Then sleep,” Locke murmured softly. “Sleep it off for now. And once you wake up everything will be right as rain.” 

“Promise?” The knight uttered in a wavering voice as he searched for reassurance in the stranger beside him. “I promise.” He lied again.

Locke felt the knight’s grip tightening against his hand for a brief moment as the man slowly shut his eyes and before long the knight’s breathing fell quiet and his entire arm went lax in Locke’s grip before it slipped from the Hyur’s hands and fell against the hardened snow with a soft thud as the last embers of his life burned away.  

“I’m sorry, Gervaise. Sleep well.” 

[xfairystar]

Never Stays Long

They had fallen into a lovely routine in the months she had spent there with him.  It hadn't taken long to feel like it had done after the Dragonsong war had ended and they both relished it.  Spending as much time together as possible, although Aymeric still had to work, she joined him in his office in the congregation busying herself reading books or often napping as she was prone to doing so in the daytime hours.  Sometimes she found herself looking out the window at the snow, finding that actually she had almost missed it, despite her apprehension of the weather in Ishgard she supposed her time there had acclimatised her to it, and really deserts were not much better to her.

Aymeric for his part was very happy to have her around again, he had missed her far more than he had ever let on to her whilst she was away, and so far away too.  But now she was here he worked harder than ever, determined to have work over with so he could be with her, making time to allow her to take him to places within the lands of Ishgard, show him the places she had been and had missed.  Picnics in the Sea of Clouds, games with Moogles in the Churning Mists, hunting in the Dravanian Forelands and of course, many a dinner night with Count Edmont.

Often he would come home from work in the afternoon and find her asleep with a book on her chest or fallen onto the floor, and he had grown accustomed to it, the site filling his heart with warmth he found himself never wanting to find his home without her in it.   Which may explain why now his heart felt like stone, his body felt cold despite the warmth of his house, as saw her sitting on the stairs, bag packed beside her, waiting for him to come home.  

Their eyes met, the air was heavy between them as he searched for the words.  

"You're leaving..." he said softly, his eyes not leaving hers, but she broke the contact, looking away as tears formed.

"I..." she was struggling to find the words he knew, and he wanted to go to her and comfort her but he was conflicted, emotions whirled within him and anger was prevalent amongst them. "I have to." She said, almost pleadingly; "Tataru has sent word, the scouts are back with important news and findings from the Crystal Tower..." She moved towards him, "you know I have to go... we need answers, the other scions..."

It was his turn to look away, he knew she was right but that knowledge didn't quell the storm of emotions inside him.  He felt her come closer, until she was mere ilms away, he looked at her once more finally finding his voice, "Will you be back?"

"Don't... don't do this Aymeric, you know I can't answer..."

Aymeric's fist made contact with the side table near to him, startling his cat and sending him running away hissing.  Roegan's own tail stood on end, fluffing up as her ears flattened.  "Aymeric... please."  Her voice shook, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall.  

"What do you want from me here Roegan?" He said, his voice harsh, and she was taken aback, moving a step backwards hurt etched on her face and he instantly regretted his tone, "I just, I hate it when you leave." He said, his voice a mere low whisper.

"And I hate to leave!" She implored, moving back to him placing her hand on his arm. "But I have to help my fellow scions, if it were me-"

"Don't!" He said, his eyes snapping to hers, "I cannot bear the thought... not after..."

Her hands cupped his face, "I know, but if it was, they would stop at nothing nothing to save me, and you yourself would want that.  I am the only one left now, its only me who can help them."

He sighed deeply again, he knew she was right and he knew that this was the risk he took when he fell in love with the fabled Warrior of Light he had long ago resigned himself to the fact that they would obviously never have a normal life, and that was why he stove to make the most of it when they did get glimpses of it.  But if always ended too quickly, she always left too soon.  But then, even a lifetime with her would never be enough. He knew not what to say anymore, and instead moved towards her, his own hands grabbing her face he crashed his lips into hers in a deep passionate kiss, startling her but she returned in kind.  As things got heated he found himself lifting her onto the table next to him, desperate for her closeness.  He was kissing down her neck when she spoke again;

"Aymeric... stop."

He did so immediately, he stroked her face, concern all over his own.

"Its just... she sent word hours ago now..."

"I see.  You could have come to me you know."

"I was hoping you would be home sooner I suppose, and also procrastinating the inevitable." She hung her head, he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair and savouring the sound of her purring that he loved so much.

"It's OK."

They held each other for what felt like hours and yet still didn't feel long enough.  It was never long enough.   Then it was her turn to kiss him, breaking the embrace because she knew he would not.  Stronger than him in every way.

"I will miss you, so much" she whispered to him.

"I will miss you more."

"I don't doubt that for a second, My Lord." She said, hopping off the table with a wink, she leaned up to him and kissed his cheek "I love you" she whispered in his ear.

"I love you too..." he choked out as she walked out the front door, and as it closed he whispered "please come back..."

Because she never stayed long, but she always came back.

[dholwrites]

Anniversary Party

Notes: Commission piece for @devilhuntress   Relationship: Aymeric x Female! WoL Rating: E  Word Count: 2887 Summary: A party calls you back to Ishgard and a certain Lord Commander awaits you. 

It was the last thing you expected when you got a letter from Count Fortempts. What really piqued your interest was the handwriting itself. It's unfamiliar from the one you’re used to seeing from Edmont. Until you found a different name signed at the bottom: ‘Artoirel de Fortemps’. That will need to get some used to. Along with the letter was an elegantly written invitation to a grand party for the anniversary of the end of the Dragonsong War.

Of course, it was a party in your honor. You wondered if these people would ever tire from hosting so many. A vague memory comes to you. Every fortnight the noble houses would light up as the families wine and dine away like no tomorrow. It always struck you as odd, noble families celebrating an end of a war they’d never participated in. Then again this was another topic for another time, a thought better suited over tea with Y’shtola.

This one is different. It’s being hosted by a founding family, making the invitation difficult to refuse. Of course, the Scions were invited too. Alphinaud was practically floating on air the entire trip back. Tataru, on the other hand, was a little less than pleased to be leaving the fine life in Kugane.

Arriving back in Ishgard felt like a dream. The gentle snow falling from the sky, the quiet streets, people rushing about to get to their destinations. There’s even a festive air with some of the houses decorating their exteriors.  Perhaps it’s the true Ishgardian spirit coming through, being able to reunite under one day.

Tataru was more than prepared for the party, giving you a dress from the latest fashion trend in Kugane. A long and sophisticated socialite’s dress that features a lengthy slit on the right side to show more than a generous amount of leg. There is even floral detailing along the length of the dress, giving it an elegant touch and a pop of color. She had even given you a pair of gloves and a hat to go with the ensemble. She was more than happy to get you to turn every head at this ball.

Truthfully, you only wished to turn one head --- just the Lord Commander’s. For the past few moons, both of you have been exchanging letter after letter. Always giving each other updates; To you, Aymeric shares the plans and progress he’s made along with the New Republic, from you, Aymeric gets to read the first-hand accounts of your adventures.

Still, you miss him. You miss running your fingers through his dark curly hair. You miss feeling the weight of his head on your lap by the fire. You miss being able to simply lay in bed with him in the morning in silence. Watching as sunlight filters through the window, casting an angelic glow upon his face. You miss him, you truly do.

The mutual agreement was to keep it out of the public, out of prying eyes. You had not even told the Scions. Instead, you spend the long, lonely nights staring at the ceiling wishing for nothing more but to be by his side, often clutching his gracefully written letters. You can't help imagining what it would be like to feel his soothing presence beside you again.

You don’t have to imagine anymore. He is so close. So close to see, to hear, to touch.

Just as Tataru had hoped, you were turning heads as you were dragged around the party. Artoirel was quick to take your hand by the entrance before you were stuck standing there awkwardly. The eldest brother eagerly takes you from person to person introducing you to vaguely familiar faces to entirely new names. From stuck up nobles to intimidated commoners.

What was undeniable were the lingering stares. You could feel eyes drawn to your every move, particularly the high slit up your dress. Despite your efforts to make some conservative choices, you can still feel the looks catching the bare skin of your waist and legs.

That doesn’t matter when you’ve locked eyes with a pair of deep blue eyes you’ve fallen in love with.

You had spotted him the moment you stepped into the main hall. At the far side of the room, Aymeric was out of his armor and in something more form-fitting and formal. A delightful dark tux with his signature blue cape wrapped around him. He stood tall exuding confidence with a well-practiced smile on his face. A perfect picture of his diplomatic self with a tall glass of red wine in hand.

You catch sight of a familiar silver-haired dragoon next to him, surprisingly also out of his armor and in a simple dress shirt and pants. The scowl on his face is enough to deter even the bravest of noblewomen from stepping forward. But not you. You easily slip out of Artoirel’s loose grip and settle between Estinien and Aymeric as if by second nature.

“Nice for you to finally join us,” Estinien grumbles, clearly annoyed at the festivities as he drains his glass of every drop of wine. “I think if he eyed you any harder, his eyes would have popped out.” The dragoon swaps his glass off for another one as a waiter passes by and drains this one of its contents. He looks like he has been at this for a while. When you look at Aymeric for confirmation, the Lord Commander only flash you an innocent smile, there is dust of pink on his cheeks.

“Wonderful evening to see you again, my dear. Though I do wish it was under slightly different circumstances.” Aymeric takes a step closer to you, under the guise of making room for the workers. He hooks his pinkie around your own, making sure to keep it hidden from view. “You look beautiful in that dress. Another one of Tataru’s creations, I presume?”

“He’s been standing here, twiddling his thumbs as if something will happen as if he says away from his office too long. I almost mistook him for your ‘little follower’,” Estinien lets out a huff into his fifth glass. His gaze falls upon Alphinaud with his arms locked and chatting away with a lady his age, an unmistakable smile on his face.

It was easy to fall back into conversation with him, swapping little remarks with each other. Estinien seems to not mind you two giggling away beside him, even occasionally offering a dry remark of his own. The sun had long and set before you know it, one by one guest start to take their leave. The moon had risen to the highest peak in the sky. The Scions had long since retired to their own chambers, with Alphinaud sweeping by to bid good night to the three of you. Estinien decides to slip out the door, to join his siblings in arms at the Forgotten Knight to ‘actually get some good booze.’

Everyone else was much too preoccupied to notice Aymeric escaping with you, his warm hand laced with yours. The retreat back to his own home was a slow one, snow daintily floating down from the dark skies as you travel along the dimly lit cobblestone path.

You barely stifle a laugh that caught his attention. Aymeric lets go of your hand to smooth his hand across your back, as he leans down to see what you were giggling about.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed his touch until now. Every trail lead by his hand, every circle traced, and every breath in your ear seems to make you want to beg him to come closer, grip tighter, take me deeper.

Everything became a blur when the door closed behind you. Aymeric’s lips crashing into yours, tasting all the sweets and drinks you had at the party. His tongue coaxes your mouth open and invading it as if your breath will save his life. His hands rubbing your sides and moving to grope and at your chest and ass through your clothes. You can feel him grow bolder, slipping under your skirt to trace your inner thigh. His fingers brush higher and higher as they slip under the miniskirt close to your panties. As a finger finally brushes over the front of your panties, you only push yourself against him trying to get his cool touch in your heated core.

“How I’ve longed to feel you in my arms. To be able to touch you and know you are right here.” He mumbles into your lips, finally pulling away but his hands remain, his breath heavier than before. “Please, stay with me tonight?”

A nod of your head has you whisked away from the main doors and into his chambers. Aymeric claims your lips in a hurried kiss. Like if he doesn’t show you how much he misses you, you’ll disappear from his arms again. You hum happily into the kiss, deepening without another thought. He gently walks you backward, both of you fumbling with your hands and legs to strip down to your small clothes.

He settles into the bed with you seated on his lap, “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you. Never had I dream that an angel would bless me to be by my side.” He slowly lets his hand runs down your back until he catches of the end of your underwear, watching closely to memorize every angle and curve of your figure. He beckons you into another kiss.

With a tug, Aymeric pulls the fabric off your breast and cups one with his free hand. He rubs the stiffing nipple with the pad of his thumb causing you to whimper into his mouth. He pulls away to nuzzle your chest, taking the neglected nipple into his mouth to suck and twist with his tongue. You let out breathless moans and sighs, only to encourage him to double his efforts.

You whisper his name between your moans, scooting back to brace yourself on his shoulders. Lifting yourself higher onto your knees and removing the last of your defenses, you allow your smallclothes to drop over the edge onto the floor. He tugs you back into his embrace, littering your jaw and neck with playful nips and kisses, only to stop when you would tug at his own smallclothes.

He ignores your greedy hands to reach down and trace the folds of your wet core. The scent of your pussy is enough to make his mouth water as he collects the juice between his fingers. He thrust his finger into you slowly, then adding another, and another. A loud moan came from you, the sound of it causing his dick to twitch under your hand. Aymeric can’t handle it anymore.

“As much as I would love to taste you, I think we’ve waited too long for this.” He removes his fingers and easily lifts up your smaller form, switching places with you by lowering you down in the center of his bed. He seats himself between your legs, allowing you to wrap them around his waist. He discards his small clothes beside your own, lining himself up to your entrance and pressing into you. You both simultaneously groan as he sinks deeper in, feeling his length begin to fill and stretch you.

Your back arches off the bed as he brushes against a soft spot within you, causing squirming a bit as he stalled to move. The stretch of your pussy was too delicious, the fill too good to deny. Yet you need more; deeper, faster, hotter. A beg dies on the tip of your tongue as he pulls out and thrust back in with a sharp rock of his hips.

His long fingers traverse the planes of your skin, dipping and curving around the length of your body while his lips make slow yet precise work of your neck. Every hair stands on edge due to his touch or the chill in the air, you cannot tell. Your own fingers dig into his shoulders as he thrusts deeper, maintaining his slow and steady pace, eager to feel every last bit of you.

Your mewls of pleasure bounce from the walls in the quiet room. Aymeric shivers when your breath ghosts against his cheek and your lips graze against the shell of his ear. You mumble incoherently as his pace beings to quicken, as a heat blossom in the pit of your stomach.

Aymeric pulls away and studies your face, your mouth shaped into a perfect ‘O’, your eyes misty and skin flush from the pleasure. He leans back further and hoists one of your legs up onto his shoulder, creating a new, blissful angle. A deep groan of complete and utter lust rumbles from him as you watch him brush back his perfect curly bangs.

You cry out his name, your hands move to claw away at his sheets while you throw your head into the center of his pillow. He is completely entranced by the sight below him. He mutters your name, whispering praises under his breath. “Halone, you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He places kisses on your calf and continues his relentless pace, watching with dark intense eyes as your breasts bounce from the motion. Your back arches up when he hits a sensitive spot, your gasps and moans only encourage him even more. With his free hand, he traces the valley between your breast, down to your stomach and continues further down until he reached your clit, rubbing small circles around the bundle of nerves, adding a sensation that is almost too much to bear.

He pulls his lips between his teeth, pink and swollen from the prior kisses. “I’ve been thinking about this since seeing you in that dress. If only you knew the things you do to me.” His sentences are strung together with barely any room left for a breath in between, but he refuses to stop whispering sweet things for you to hear.

Another wave of heat runs from the tip of your toes, past the ends of your fingers and to ends of your hair. It tightens the knot in your stomach, threatening to snap any minute. Another moan forces its way out as he lowers your leg and buries his face in your hair, breathing deeply of your scent. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging and nudging at him to pound deeper, needing more than anything to cum.

“I-I’m so close,” You plea to him, your voice breaking at the words. Your hands fly up to find purchase in his raven locks. If you were holding on too tight, Aymeric did not say a thing. His thrusts begin to become sloppy and desperate, sending your stomach into twists and turns at the sensation. You weren’t sure if you could hold on any longer. “A-Aymeric, please, I'm going-”

“I know, my love, I know.” His deep, purring voice near your ear, his breath ghosting onto your bare neck, hot and heavy. Your clit jolts as your pussy tighten around him, causing his breath to hitch. “Cum for me, love. Cum for me,” he whispers, giving your hips a tight squeeze. Mixed with perfectly timed thrusts and dirty words, he sends you over the edge. Gasping and moaning as you were sent into blinding pleasure. Your eyes shut from the intensity of your orgasm, one hand raking your nails down his back while the other tightens in his hair harder and harder while he continues to fuck you through your climax.

He mutters into your skin, his voice rising in pitch with every word. His own high hits him like a storm. A sharp intake of air, followed by his gasps and moans, his eyes glazed over. Aymeric comes to a slow stop inside you, spilling his seed all over your walls. You can feel every spurt of the hot cum from his throbbing cock hitting your cervix, and prolonging your high as you feel the heat fills you.

Aymeric pulls out of you once he was spent, yet still hovering over you to take in the sight; your messy hair, your skin cold and clammy with sweat yet flushed red, the look in your eyes as you slowly came down from your own climax. You gave him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. You look enchanting, ravishing, the most enticing woman he had laid eyes upon. He pulls away and straightens up between your legs, the warmth of his cum inside makes you feel all the hotter.

Licking his lips, he takes your hand and presses a delicate kiss over your fingers. Starting a trail from your fingers and slowly making his way up your arm until he was pressing at your bare shoulder. His gaze piercing and dark from desire, he couldn’t help himself from stealing another from your lips. He cradles your chin with one hand giving you slow and sweet kisses.

Unable to resist the temptation with you underneath him, the kisses start to turn heated and heavy again. His free hand traces up and down your shaky legs, body still tingling pleasantly.

The delicate moans from your lips fan the flame inside him. Aymeric leans over you and pleads with his deep blue eyes. “Round two?”

[tamrinetamomille]

Character Summary: Tamrine Tamomille

Read her stories : Ffxivwrite2019

Spoilers ahead for the whole MSQ

Name

Born Tan’rhyne Taamomi, she changed the spelling of her name to an Elezen one when she made the decision to travel to Eorzea, inspired by her Gridanian friend and as a way to mark a new beginning to her life.

I initially came up with Tamrine’s name with the vague knowledge that female Keepers’ names don’t have apostrophes, but since she is trans, I later decided that she should have a “male” birth name instead, which meant manipulating the lore rules a bit:

The prefix “Tan” indicates that she is the tenth child from her mother’s generation. In canon lore, this is normally a suffix, and the numbering is tied only to the mother, but well, my excuse is that the Taamomis follow their own version of the tradition. This is combined with Rhyne, which is her mother’s name.

Close Family

Tamrine is the third and youngest child of Rhyne (Miqo’te word for “esteem”), and has two older siblings, with the middle one having a different biological co-parent. The other parent of Tamrine and her eldest sibling is Sae’huji Tano.

Rhyne is a very determined person and a powerful thaumaturge who is seen as one of the future leader of the clan. She contrasts with her lover since teenage years Sae’huji, who is a more cool-headed conjurer. While the children of the clan are raised by all the caretakers and parents, Rhyne is nonetheless a very loving and protective mother of her biological children.

Tamrine has herself at least one biological child, To’ahana, who was conceived around a year before Tamrine left for Eorzea. The two have essentially never met.

Some time after the death of her fiancé and around the end of the Dragonsong war, Tamrine was officially adopted by Edmont Fortemps.

Romantic relationships

After her first adventures in Central Coerthas, Tamrine started dating Haurchefant, in who she found a kindred spirit she could relax with and be herself. Their bond only grew deeper over time and as turmoil threatened their loved ones. Haurchefant proposed to her before she left for Ishgard in search of a solution to the Dragonsong War and she accepted.

Following the death of her fiancé, she stayed sexually active but abstained from any similar romantic relationship for a few years, though she did begin to develop a crush on Urianger after the reveal of his handsome personality and face during the Warrior of Darkness incident.

It’s only years later, after the defeat of Hades, and while Tamrine was recovering at Urianger’s house, that the two of them finally opened their hearts to each other, ready to move on from their respective grief.

Personality

As the youngest of her siblings and cousins of her generation, and with shortcomings all the more notable for their contrast with her talented mother, Tamrine was quite shy as a child and teenager. As a young adult fulfilling her duty to the clan, she started to grow and come out of her shell progressively, but she particularly bloomed when she became an Eorzean adventurer, growing a lot more confident and brave to the point of recklessness.

Tamrine is rarely afraid to get hurt, both physical and mentally, which doesn’t reduce how much her wounds will still affect her. Even without her fearlessness, her love for adventuring, traveling around the world, and meeting and connecting with people, is just much greater than any downside or struggle that presents itself along the way. She loves the world and the people that inhabit it, and quite often, her singing and dancing is an expression of this love.

At some point, her repressed shyness and homesickness took on the form of Esteem’s Tenth, but after a fight, Tamrine accepted and compromised with this part of herself.

Pre-Adventurer Story and Background

Her family, the Taamomi, is a nomadic clan of Keepers of the Moon residing in Thavnair. They are secret guardians of ancient knowledge that has been passed from generation to generation. Besides the usual Miqo’te hunting tradition, they practice their own form of the Kriegstanz, Thavnair’s battle dancing tradition, but above all, are known by those they deal with as creators and sellers of monsters.

Unfortunately, despite being very skilled at manipulating aether for any sort of physical feats, Tamrine was inversely really bad at spellcasting. Her attempt at reshaping aether in new, complex form always led to chaotic results, making it impossible for her to directly help with the family business.

Based on her body type, her role as an adult was to travel mostly on her own as a satellite of the clan’s core unit (made of the children, caretakers/parents, and elders), which gave her space to reconsider her life and future. After a year, she met a Gridanian merchant who inspired her to travel to Eorzea with her.

Warrior of Light Saga

(From A Realm Reborn to post-Shadowbringers)

More precisely, Tamrine’s destination was Gridiana, where she was hoping to find someone who could teach her how to sing like the bards of old. Through many adventures, she ended up gaining a major reputation on the continent, not just as the Primal Slayer, but also as an outstanding and very sought-after bard. 

On top of her combat abilities and the Echo, her natural inclination and capacity at “purifying” aether made her a perfect weapon against Primals. And with time, she learned to manipulate the energies of nature with more and more precision and strength through her singing, allowing her to fight evil and appease hearts with the power of her voice. Her self-confidence grew as she felt she had found what she had been born to do: changing the word into a better place with her own talents.

Even through the tragedies and debacles of her adventures, she kept dashing forward, unafraid of getting hurt, be it by spilling her blood or getting her heart broken. That is, until the day she lost a fight for the first time in her entire life. After her defeat at the hands of Zenos, her momentum of a few years stopped and she reconsidered what to do next.

As she was recuperating in the back lines, she met Nashmeira, the leader of a troupe of Dancers from Thavnair, who convinced her to relearn the steps of the Kriegstanz, this time in its proper, traditional form. Unlike the Taamomis’ version aimed to reinforce and exploit people’s negative emotions, the traditional school and its opposite aim suited Tamrine far better and she made tremendous progress learning and incorporating this new fighting style into her own. She refined it throughout her adventures in the East and came back to lead the charge of the war in Gyr Abania.

While she defeated Zenos in the end, Tamrine felt at a certain weariness once Ala Mhigo was liberated and the fighting ended for a time. She considered retiring as an adventurer and dedicating the rest of her life to the arts; but the choice was taken from her when the armies of Garlemald threaten Gyr Abania once more and as the Scions were swept away by a mysterious call.

The struggles she went through on the First ended up being some of the hardest she had ever gone through, but by the end, through the reunions with an old friend and with a part of her soul, Tamrine found healing. While she was resting at Urianger’s place, having recently started dating him, she came to the realization that she had a much easier time spellcasting than before.

Tamrine had notions about magic from what her clan had taught her, but she went back to the Source to seriously study magic and test her new limits. Unfortunately, she did figure out the new frontiers of magic abilities fairly quickly. She was able to use complex spells, but only at the expanse of seriously putting a strain on her body and health, especially with black or white magic.

An answer finally came to Tamrine when she realized that a crystal stone given to her by her family as per tradition was reacting to her spells. Following instructions given by her mother for such a case, she accomplished a ritual of several days, that mostly involved pouring her aether into the stone, until it took on a new color and revealed its purpose.

By doing this, Tamrine gave birth to an “alter ego” of sorts. An artificial intelligence based on her own psyche and meant to help her, especially with all matters of spellcasting. “Fuss,” as they named themself, studied Tamrine’s issue with magic and came up with an actual solution in two parts. 

First, they encouraged her to turn her studies to Red Magic again, for its non-reliance of external aether (a strong source of strain for Tamrine) and its physical fighting style that would allow her to combine her strengths. Secondly, they guided her on the making of a sword capable of absorbing the strain caused by her magic and expelling it as an attack (though Fuss taught Tamrine to think of it as a bow when casting magic).

The results were extremely positive and Tamrine happily trained to combine all her fighting styles together while continuing her exploration of the arts of magic. Now a more versatile fighter than ever, and with the newfound motivation brought by her friends in the First and the conviction of still being able to grow and self-actualize further, she continues her adventures.

Miscellaneous Facts

- She is agender and went by “they” pronouns up until she left for Eorzea, where she switched to “she” pronouns.

- She is particularly tall for a Miqo’te, and is even taller than most Midlanders. 

- She looks very similar to her mother, but her green eye is a bit of a mystery, as it isn’t clear to anyone from which ancestor she inherited it from.

- As a trained Miqo’te tracker and hunter, she can track a scent across very large distances, and also has pretty sensitive hearing. On the other hand, she is near-sighted. A fact that took a while for her to discover because of how reliant she is on her other senses, as per her family’s teachings. She simply didn’t realize that not everybody see things this blurry at a distance.

- Being the youngest of her biological siblings and cousins, she thoroughly enjoys treating Alphinaud, Alisaie, and Emmanuellain as her younger siblings.

- Besides the arts of music, singing, and dancing, one of Tamrine’s favorite hobby is competitive karuta, a game she learned from Hien during her travels in Doma that rely on subtle hearing and quick reflexes. She regularly teleports to Hingashi or Doma to participate in tournaments. Her good memory, sensitive hearing, and peak physical capabilities make her a fierce competitor.

NSFW facts (further below)

- She is a complete sub and a masochist, though she enjoys taking the reins and guiding her partner if they are inexperienced. She likes topping and bottoming equally.

- She is a premature ejaculator and has never gotten someone off with her penis (without the help of a spell to prevent her from cumming), which is all the more reason why she is actually quite good at doing it other ways. On top of her good communication skills, this actually makes her a great bed partner.

- Speaking of her penis, it is slightly under average Miqo’te size (and I picture said average as being proportionally lower than Hyurs’ average).

- Her pubic hair has a red streak like her head hair.

[austinonymous]

Coping, Now that You’re Gone

Title: Coping, Now that You’re Gone

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV - A Realm Reborn

Ship: Haurchefant Greystone x Male Warrior of Light

Characters: Artoirel de Fortemps, Emmanellain de Fortemps, Miqo’te Warrior of Light (Ahleh’li)

Rating: T (because I’m paranoid)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191988

Summary: The events of the Vault... he'd had barely any time to think about what he had just lost when he'd rushed after the Archbishop. Now, the drinking habits he'd picked up in his adopted home of Limsa Lominsa were coming in handy.

_________________________________________________________

        Ishgard was a singularly cold city; he doubted Ser Aymeric would deny him that.

         It was both fascinating and ridiculous to think about- a combination of brilliance and frustration. Those who built the city saw fit to place it on a lonely outcropping of rock, with shear cliffs on all sides that subjected the entire city with near constant freezing winds that whistled by with blistering ferocity. It was one of the few reasons that the dragons had yet to approach from any direction besides the sole connection to the rest of Coerthas that was the bridge; doing so was exhausting for any beast and would leave the weakened creature a sitting duck for Ishgard’s mighty cannons.

         The citizens of the city were lucky in that the winds had maintained consistent patterns, allowing the Holy See to map them over the years to find the few ways their chocobos and flying ships could ferry people to and from the city.

         Of course, that did little to help with the swirling frost that circled the city, constantly seeking any purchase in its walls and towers. The snow tried to claw its way inside, and the only reason the city wasn’t buried under several inches of snow was the updrafts drove the snow away mostly. The sky fought itself every second, miraculously leaving the noble and poor alike safe from the worst of the weather’s attempts to encase them in an ever-deepening layer of ice.

         Despite that safety net, when one gazed on it, the city looked desolately cold. While the towering architecture of his home city was grand and its cathedrals and halls still filled him with awe, the endless stonework made living here when in a foul mood near insufferable. He didn’t have the glistening sea at his doorstep like back in Limnsa Lominsa, nor the pure white stone mixed in with the more traditional grey stone quarried from the cliffsides nearby. It was startling how refreshing a simple breeze felt while standing on the terraces of his adopted home, brushing up against him and caressing his cheek like a fisherman coming in from a long night’s work. The salt of the bustling harbor did not cling to his arms and mix into the fur of his tail or ears here, and the boisterous sounds of drunken song from a dozen barely controlled pirate crews could not be heard.

         If he was there, across the continent, Ahleh’li would bury his sorrows in booze and drunkenly dance on table-tops with the sailors of the city. Merry step-dances and improvised line-dances as a random sailor played a beat out on the well-worn skin of a drum as the wicks of the candles burned away. His old guild-master from the Arcanists guild would likely chastise him for not spending time on his incantations and spellwork surely, but Jacke would cheer him on before finding a secluded balcony for his other Rouges to share a pint and try and cheer him up.

         It was funny- Ishgard was where he was raised, but in this moment of great sorrow it did not feel like home.

         His companion shifted a bit to his right, a bit uneasy. Ahleh’li smirked a bit at the young elezen- though to be fair Emmanellain was actually a little older than himself, “Hn- Ya ‘een a wee s’bit antsy there Mister,” he tried to tease the man before frowning as his speech came out in the more slurred accent he’d gained while with the Rouges and the sailors of the port city. He coughed, forcing his brain to focus a bit more so that he wouldn’t appear quite so inebriated.

         Really, he hadn’t had that much liquor. Over his time getting into drinking contests with the large and broad-chested Roegadyn, Ahleh’li had learned to stomach enough to topple the seven-foot-tall race. It must have been quite some time since his last drinking contest to be getting this affected already.

         Oh yes. His last had been with… with…

         Ahleh’li took another swig of his ale, savoring the taste as it burned down his throat, Emmanellain sighing as he did so, “My dear Warrior of Light, I know how you must be feeling- gods, I mean I didn’t know him well, but he was my half-brother still,” He said depressingly as he took a small sip of the Forgotten Knight’s ale. “Is this truly the best way to deal with this? I know the docks of Limsa Lominsa are much different than here but… this seems… ineffective.”

         Ishgardian nobility and their weak stomachs- what Ahleh’li wouldn’t give to have Captain Jacke here, or Towering Stone, maybe Thancred too. It was too bad his fellow Scion was out scouting the Garlean’s movements.

         “Well, see here Emmanellain, s’not supposed to be effective. That’s the whole point; you drink till your dancing on the rafters and forgetting about whatever it was that got you into the tavern to begin with,” Ahleh’li said pointing a finger at the young noble elezen.

         “That does not sound healthy in the slightest,” Came the calm yet dour tones of the older Fortemps brother. The Miqo’te looked back with a raised eyebrow, tail swishing behind him as he gazed up at Artoirel.

         He took a moment before humming, “Perhaps not, yet here we all are. Your city is being forcibly changed from a theocracy, discontent and distrust bubbles under its surface, and everyone has dead to count.” Ahleh’li sighed, gazing into the mug in front of him, “What I wouldn’t give to be fighting the Garleans again in Mor Dhona. No secret revelations that complicated your feelings besides how truly massive assholes they all were.”

         Artoirel sighed and pushed a black bang out of his face, “Ser Aymeric sent me to find you; he’s quite worried for you, as is young Alphinaud.”

         That earned the noble a finger-wagging, as Ahleh’li’s ears perked up at the mention of Alphinaud, “Now now, that young man is only a couple years younger than me, so be careful what comments you make about his age Mister Heir Apparent.”

         Scoffing, the noble shook his head and smirked, “Unlike yourself I doubt Alphinaud can down a half dozen of the inn’s strongest ales without vomiting up his guts in the corner. I think I can call him young at least in that respect.”

         Ahleh’li nodded solemnly, before snickering. Alphinaud was really just too cute for his own good- not that it was an unattractive quality. It was endearing, and he treasured the other arcanist’s friendship dearly. Especially after everything the both of them had been through ever since escaping Ul’dah.

         The mood had lightened for a moment, but Artoirel soon sent it crashing back down again as he raised the issue once again, “I have to agree with Ser Aymeric and Alphinaud however; this is not what you should be doing to cope with the sacrifice of our dear brother.”

         His fingers clenched around the handle of his mug, but Ahleh’li managed to hold his fury in, “What should I be doing? Shall I go get revenge and bring those who hurt him to justice? Well, did that already and it did jack shit for me. “

         Emmanellain sighed as he set down his own mug and looked at the younger man, “We don’t need to drown our sorrows like this at least. You have many friends around you to take solace in. You’re even slowly finding members of the Scions you lost, aren’t you? Even if Haurchefant is gone, you need not suffer alone.”

         Ahleh’li’s breath hitched at the utterance of Haurchefant’s name, his alcohol-addled mind immediately conjuring his cheerful face to mind. Steaming mugs of cocoa in hand as he offered them refuge after being forced to run. A wide smile on his face as he playfully teased the smaller Miqo’te before they both downed another glass of ale. The wisps of frost puffing from his mouth, swirling past a face framed by disheveled hair and shirt hanging dangerously low on his shoulder as he lay over Ahleh’li. The red on his cheeks as Ser Aymeric gave them both knowing smiles as they shuffled in to plan for the combat operations to come. The gentleness of hands calloused from battle, carefully holding his own as they lay in front of a fireplace together in his quarters.

         It had been dream-like, despite all the trials they were going through. And like most of Ahleh’li’s dreams, it had ended by turning into a nightmare.

         A hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder and Ahleh’li looked up at the sympathetic face of Artoirel, startled. The noble sighed, looking away before speaking, “I know that this is all quite unwanted, and you likely wish to grieve without the rest of us. The Fury knows that Father has been secluded in his study ever since he received the news. This still, still it is not healthy. You, Alphinaud, Haurchefant, Ser Aymeric, and Estinien, have supported each other throughout this ordeal- throwing away their companionship now amid grieving is a mistake I wish to not see you make.”

         His tongue darted out and licked his lips to wet them; Ahleh’li did not enjoy this conversation in the least bit. He blinked, suddenly realizing what Artoirel was talking about, “I… I take it Alphinaud is not handling the disappearance of Estinien well?”

         The older noble shook his head, grim, “As someone with a younger brother, I know the sort of admiration he had for Estinien. Even if the Dragoon’s absence is not exactly abnormal, the lack of communication from him is. And with the Dragonsong War still going until peace negotiations start, his absence bodes ill.”

         That did not sound good. Ahleh’li had grown to respect the Dragoon over their time together traveling Dravania and Albathia’s Spire, and for him to be missing after all this mess with the Holy See went down…

         Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. Really, after everything they’d been through, here Ahleh’li was drowning his sorrows in booze while he left his elezen friend and people like Ser Aymeric who had been nothing but supportive to mourn Haurchefant and fret over Estinien’s disappearance alone.

         After Haurchefant had passed, only wishing to see a smile on Ahleh’li’s face as his eyes closed forever.

         Ahleh’li groaned, staggering to his feet as he dragged his sleeve across his mouth to wipe away any of the froth left there by his ale. The two brothers looked at him curiously and the Miqo’te gave them his best smile, raising his mug in one last gulp of ale, “To the greatest knight this realm has seen, and to a future where his death won’t have been fruitless.”

         Perhaps it wasn’t a convincing toast, or smile. But that didn’t matter. If he was to move on, he needed to do so with a smile. Getting through this grief intact would be his personal monument to a man who’d saved his life.

[fulcrum-agent]

“My name is Claire, and no, you don’t get the last name with that,” she answers, keeping the gun levelled at the questioner.

The spire of the Lominsan lighthouse glitters behind her, casing light around the edges of her form.

I came here not long before the Calamity, avoiding my own arranged marriage by helping my sister escape from hers, so she could marry the man she actually loved, a Lominsan sailor.

We were here the night that son of a bitch Primal broke free of his confines; I spent that night digging through the wreck of this city trying to find my sister and brother-in-law. I’d refused to go to Carteneau with the rest of them - I knew it was going to go sideways, though not for the reasons it did. Instead of killing Garleans, I ended up rescuing people.

I couldn’t save my sister.

Go figure.

Everything changed after that night.

Eorzea.

The City-States.

Me.

Although it would take years to admit to, I had a deathwish; perhaps I still do.

The aether disruption the night of the Calamity distorted the land and those who lived off of it. I took to hunting aetherically altered creatures, on my own. While none of them remotely compared to Cianna, my brother-in-law, his family, and the first person I met in Eorzea became concerned.

Lane tried time and again to get me to go back to the Path, but I refused, even as the Path transformed into the Seventh Dawn. I still hated Ascilia for what she had done, and what she hadn’t done, and the single meeting we had ended in a broken desk.

For a time, I resisted, as I had little trouble with the twisted denizens of a post-Calamity Eorzea. I told myself that if I ever ran across anything that came close to the thing Cianna had once been, I would concede to their demands, and make a company.

It would take a few years before anything would give me cause to call upon my Curse, even with taking on more targets than I really should have. The ever-subtle shifts of aether and form were almost blinding to me, and much of the time, these creatures barely left a scratch upon me.

And then, I encountered my first Primal.

It didn’t go all that well. I may have survived, but it was by the skin of my teeth; had I not learned forbidden spells, if I hadn’t used them, I wouldn’t be alive.

It was the first time in over a decade I was left with a scar as a reminder. Not even Ortellasan had succeeded in doing that much. I realised then that, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t become strong enough to face the Elder Dragon on my own.

I conceded to the Attwaters’ request. I conceded to Lane’s request.

Dark Embers.

It was a new beginning, from the ashes of the Calamity, and in either a flash of enlightenment or flash of insanity, I thought to name it after the mythical creature who died, turning to ash, only to rise anew from such.

The sizeable estate that my brother-in-law had bought with our stolen inheritance was converted, turned into something of a headquarters for the company, though East wing was cordoned off; it became a sanctuary for the remains of my sister, for her husband, and for myself. Magically sealed, no one short of an Archon was getting through that wing’s door.

For a time, it consisted of just the Attwaters, Lane, Fryden the Gardner, and the two Lalafel maids who kept the estate in order. Knowing what our end goal was, I required Lane to bring recruits who potentially had the Echo, though, within a few moons, I had adapted a device I had stolen from my former home to outright detect such an anomaly.

Expansion happened rapidly from then on. There was very little training most of those who Lane found required, and before long, we were fighting the things that the Grand Companies couldn’t, things the Seventh Dawn couldn’t be arsed to deal with - even though Ascilia’s proteges had dealt with them before.

The Seventh Dawn was too busy, moving towards another conflict with the Empire, to deal with the recurrent summons of Primals. The fools were falling into the same disasters the Path had before the Calamity.

In the early moons of the company’s founding, I rediscovered feelings I had buried since the day I faced Cianna, though this time I didn’t make the mistake of accepting such until after it was too late.

I wanted nothing to do with Celistine at first. The happenstance of our first meeting was...traumatic, for both of us. My Curse collided with hers, resulting in both of us having to relive her trauma at Carteneau, and I mistakenly believed that Ascilia had sent her to drag me back to the fold. Lin did little to assuage that belief, in the beginning.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Lin refused to give up on making amends for our first meeting. She was hellsbound to convince me that she wasn’t some puppet of Ascilia’s, that she was her own person, and she was devoting her time to myself and the Embers for her own reasons.

Eventually, I relented, and for the next four and a half years, we were rarely apart.

Not long after Lin’s arrival in the company, I found myself tasked with having to play minder for two Imperial expatriates - brothers, who were as night and day. 

Hyrist Verus had been well on his way to becoming a Legatus when the Empire turned in a direction he and his brother disagreed with. He probably would have made one hell of a commander, had it not been for several world shattering traumas he suffered.

Prior to leaving for Eorzea, he was a Primus Prior, known as the Red Lion, a name that would eventually be passed on to one of my guns.

Eric Verus held near-equal rank with his brother, though he worked within the  Frumentarii rather than on the field due to what was thought to be an illness, but turned out to be Voidtaint, for all intents and purposes. Hyper-intelligent, observant, with a thirst for knowledge, most would never have guessed that Eric was Garlean.

Prior to leaving for Eorzea, he was one of the Empire’s foremost espionage specialists, known only as the Black Stag, the name that would be passed on to the other gun of my set.

Hyrist and I...were often at odds, as neither one of us wanted to admit a great number of things. Eric and I...became close, as he attempted to manage the disaster that was his brother.

The elder Verus became our head cook, as his penchant for being drunk made him almost useless on the field much of the time, while the younger Verus became my personal physician and the company lawyer.

In his free time, Eric was something of a poet and writer, which lead to the establishment of a printing press business for the company.

While my relationships with Lin and Eric had been quite important, those years were filled with non-stop work. Higher taxonomy Voidsent, more Primals, and the Paragons were constant concerns. The company grew, much more than I had ever expected it to, and soon I was herding quite the pride of cats.

Many of our numbers participated in Operation Archon, though it was not a conflict we were directly involved in as a company. We dealt with much of the aftermath of such, however, as we often found ourselves doing for the Seventh Dawn.

Shortly before the events that would lead us out of Eorzea, hunters from my homeland became more frequently found here. When many of my attempts to avoid them failed, I resorted to more...questionable means of hiding from them.

Between the technologies we had found in the remains of Dalamud, and the further discoveries we made in Azys Lla, I became Tierell’s sister, at least...for all intents and purposes.

The Bloody Banquet of Ul’dah passed, along with the near destruction of the Seventh Dawn. We already had been investigating Ishgard, expecting to find the Holy See sitting upon a Primal, so the escalations of the Dragonsong War saw the company become wards of House Haillenarte. As a company, we fought in the final conflicts that saw the end to the Dragonsong War, much as we had with Operation Archon, except this time, it was official company initiative.

All good things...

As all eyes turned towards Ala Mhigo, strain continued to press upon the company, each internal conflict stretching our numbers to the limit.

These conflicts weren’t our undoing - for that, we have the Grand Companies to thank.

Even as Hyrist finally stepped up to be something more than the drunken cook for the company, even as Eric neared solving the riddle left to us by one of the Paragons, even as one of our own was nearly killed in the fall of Rhalgr’s Reach - saved only through the graces of our surgeon and one of the Padjal’s prodigies, the storm of blood and embers caused the Alliance to reassign the Verus brothers, as well as Lin, and others who were too tightly bound to them.

There’s a reason I avoided getting too tangled up with any of the Grand Companies, but few had the ability to avoid such.

These losses were keenly felt. As the battle for Gyr Abania raged, the Hall became much as it was the first few moons that followed its conversion from an estate to a Hall.

The few of us left chased after an Imperial experiment, a former member of the Auri Moonstriker clan that had become one of the Resonant. We’re still chasing him down, as he used the Liberation as a cover, going to ground just as Doma was freed.

While some still watch the field, most of my own time has become consumed with an off-the-books mission from the Alliance. Reverse engineering an old chemical weapon found near Bittermill, in Gyr Abania. Those of us who went to retrieve it were ‘gifted’ with witnessing what such a weapon could do, and since we have the technology to do it, the mission became ours.

Part of me misses the days of being the big damn heroes no one ever really hears much about, and part of me is happy about the fact I can focus on something other than...

...I was going to say saving the world, but technically, this research may still do that.

Scoffing, the gun is lifted, its barrel no longer staring down the questioner as she finishes speaking.

“Times change. People change. Bonds are made, and bonds are broken,” she states, eyes closing. “I’m not going anywhere, though. As much as Fluffy might wish I would.”

“And clearly, I didn’t get stuck being a Miqo’te,” she quips, grinning. “About the only thing I’ll ever thank Beardy for.”

Quick OOC:

Due to the way some of the lore was released in 2.0, Claire actually possesses six Crystals, though not all of them are innately hers. She refers to her own Echo as a curse, but never quite explains to anyone how that is; I may or may not have gone back to a part of her original ARR concept that I ditched upon becoming the main FC leader. >.>

So she’s the closest thing I have to a WoL.

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #14 - Until Next We Meet

Part - ‘to go apart from or leave one another, as persons’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“So…eveyrthing sorted?” Alisaie stared at the Warrior of Light pointedly as she asked this. They stood at the gangplank before the Misery, preparing for their voyage across the Sirensong Sea to the distant lands of Hingashi and Doma. Tataru, Alphinaud, and Lyse stood just a little ways away from them speaking with the captain to make sure all arrangements were in order.

Katsum nodded in response to her question, though she was unsure what she was meaning by it, “Of course, why do you ask?”

The young Elezen girl narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms, “You did tell him where we were going, right?”

“Who do you mean?”

“Katsum, please. You know who I mean.”

The blonde Miqo’te’s ears fell slightly as she looked away. Yes, she knew, but she was not sure how Alisaie did. She hadn’t told any of the Scions about her and Aymeric’s relationship, and he had promised he wouldn’t say anything either, and she trusted that promise. Perhaps they had been too transparent or something around each other? Perhaps spoken to each other in a far more familiar way then they realized in front of them? She was not sure, yet to ask would confirm any thoughts of it, and that maybe all this was, Alisaie prying for an answer she wasn’t sure of. With this thought, Katsum blinked and met her gaze again and answered evenly, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Alisaie narrowed her eyes, “Really? Very well, you don’t have to confirm what I already know.”

“Alisaie, what are you-”

“Ah, don’t worry,” She smiled and waved her hand, “Your secret is safe with me. I won't tell anyone.”

Katsum opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Urianger’s approach. She sighed internally, her eyes more downcast than usual as she was afraid to meet anyone’s gaze straight on in fear of giving anything else away. Still, she listened in to Alisae and Urianger’s conversation, happy to blend in with the background, even for just a moment.

The truth was, she hadn't told Aymeric she was leaving for Hingashi today…and while the guilt set heavily on her heart, the thought of saying “goodbye” pained her even more. She had been trying all week, visiting him at his office one afternoon, joining him for dinner again another, and each time she gathered the courage to speak up and say it, he would stop her…and tell her how beautiful she was, or how happy he was to be getting to know her better. And then he would smile his most charming smile that just turned her mind off entirely…And she would fall silent, unable to bring a frown to that handsome visage. Perhaps she could send a letter once she was across the sea or something? Send him a gift to make up for it? Yet even those things did not help the guilt she felt, her heart falling at the very thought.

“Honored guests!” The voice of Captain Carvallain caught her attention and she raised an ear to listen, “Say your farewells, for the moment of our parting draws nigh! A fair wind blows, and I mean to follow it!”

Katsum took a deep breath, forcing a smile as she nodded her farewell to Urianger with the others and turned towards the great ship.

“Wait!!”

At the sound of the voice, she froze. No, surely…surely that wasn’t-

“Ser Aymeric!” Alisaie called out surprise, side-eyeing Katsum as she did, “What a surprise to see you here in Limsa.”

Katsum spun on her heel, watching him approach. Ser Aymeric de Borel sprinted down through the gates and onto the dock, stopping just a few feet from the group and huffing as he breathed heavily, his eyes locked on Katsum’s.

“Forgive me…I would have been here sooner, but…I did not know that…” Katsum’s ears fell back in shame as she moved to step up to him. He watched her every movement, reaching out to take her hands as she neared, speaking lowly so that only she could hear, “Was this what you’ve been trying to tell me? When you visited the Congregation…and at dinner last night…?”

Katsum looked down at their hands, feeling tears form in the corner of her eyes as she nodded, “Yes…” She shook her head as her hands started shaking, “I’m sorry, Aymeric, I’m so sorry…I just couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye. Even now, it hurts so much to say it…” She watched his hand move to tilt her chin so that her eyes met his again, a tear falling as she looked at the sadness she found there, “I’m sorry…”

Aymeric took a deep breath, his frown turning into a sad smile as he wiped the tear from her eye, “My dear Katsum, such a soft heart you truly have. Think not of us ‘saying goodbye’, but rather ‘we will see each other again soon’. Then it is not parting forever, just for a little while, yes?”

Katsum sniffed, trying to smile and failing as she nodded.

“Smile for me, Kat,” She took a breath to calm herself, a small smile spreading across her lips.

“There we are.” His sad smile faded into a warm one as he let go of her hand and reached into his cloak, “Close your eyes, please.” She looked at him questioningly but obeyed. She felt him clip something into her hair carefully before stepping back, “Alright, now open them.”

Katsum opened her eyes to see him holding a handmirror towards her where she could see the beautiful, dragon-shaped hairpin she now wore. Her eyes widened in surprise, admiring the golden metal and the details of the scales and wings pressed into it, all the way down to the tail of it where a small, teardrop-shaped, red gem hung sparkling in the sunlight.

“Oh, Aymeric, it's beautiful!” She raised a hand to feel the designs and tap the dangling gem to admire its sparkle.

“I had it made for you a few weeks back after the Dragonsong War ended, yet it was not finished until just a few days ago. I meant to give it to you last night at dinner, but when you left so suddenly…I forgot. So I went to Fortemps Manor to give to you, and that’s where I learned of your departure…”

Katsum looked up to meet his eyes as she frowned, “I’m…I’m so sorry, Aymeric…Here you are, giving me this gift I do not deserve, and I only offer you sadness and selfishness in not telling you that I was leaving…”

He shook his head, pocketing the mirror as he cupped her face, “You needn’t apologize, my lady. I understand your reasons, I do.” He moved closer as if to kiss her forehead, but then remembering the company around them, he stopped and instead took her hand again and raised it to his lips to kiss the back of it, “Until next we meet, my lady. My love. Please, be safe. Promise me that you will be.”

Katsum’s tail twitched at a thought, and before she knew what she was doing, she reached up to the collar of his cloak, pulling him down to her lips as she kissed him. She could tell by his stiffness that he was shocked considering they were standing in front of the Scions still, yet he did not pull away until she did. Katsum of course had not forgotten them, yet she could not help herself as her love for the Ishgardian poured out from her heart and bid her draw him in and seal his lips with hers. When she pulled away, she kept him close so they pressed their foreheads against one another.

“Consider that my promise to return to you safely. I shall be looking to take that back when I return.” She gazed deeply into his eyes as he smiled warmly.

“I look forward to it, my lady,” She smiled back, the guilt and weight on her shoulders lifting as her heavy heart lightened just a little. She let him go and stepped back as he straightened. Hold his hands and squeezing them gently as she stepped away.

“I will see you soon. Until then…I shall miss you dearly.” Katsum mused, letting go when she stepped out of his reach.

“As I will miss you, Katsum. Be safe on your journey, and write when you can. Tell me all about your adventures.”

She smiled and nodded, lifting a hand to turn towards the ship…only to see the Scions with happy and relieved smiles on their face, with Alisaie grinning knowingly at her.

“Haven’t a clue who I was talking about, eh?”

Katsum turned red as her ears stood up and her tail fluffed up, all gathered to chuckle at her embarrassing reaction, Aymeric included. She would surely never hear the end of this one…

[thejokerbug]

In Ishgard

It was nightfall before Joker could clearly see the outline of The Holy City of Ishgard. The high walls, which once made her feel protected inside of them, gave her a sense of dread and as if she were being locked in a cage. Maybe in time it would feel like home once more. She sat up a little straighter, shivering and regretting the shorts she wore with the woven poncho. It were fine enough for the weather in Thanalan, but not the snow of Ishgard.

Raument looked over to her as he saw her sit up out of the corner of his eye. He sighed as he saw her shiver and then looked at the legs she was showing. He shrugged his coat off and handed it over to her. "Cover yourself. What would everyone think if they saw me bringing you back like that." His tone was tense and there was a soft scoff from him.

Joker took the jacket in her small hands. She pulled it on, it only weighing her down more. The heaviness only brought her further down to Hydaelyn. There was a light blush from her as she looked to her exposed legs. He was right, what would people think of her? She wrapped the jacket around her and looked away from the man, ashamed. "I'll think better next time."

The man put an arm around the darling girl and pressed his lips to the top of her head. She wrinkled her nose some, not sure why the affection she craved for from him felt wrong now. The elezen didn't take note of the subtle motion from her. "I forgive you, dear. You will relearn your manners in time."

Dear Arman,

I suppose I ended the last letter poorly. Perhaps you think me strange for saying such a thing. I should have told you the story as you told me your own. Am I worrying you yet? What thoughts are going through your head? What do you think I am going to write next?

About a year ago I should have wed. Does this surprise you? Ashioux was his name. He was an elezen only a few years older than myself. I met him in the Brume when I was merely a child. We became quick friends after I let him touch my horns and he let me touch his ears. He spent his life from that moment on to protect me and teach me to handle my own with the larger elezen. At least long enough for help to come.

As many of the young men did, he wanted to fight in the dragging war when he was of age. I couldn't fully understand it. It may be something I will never fully understand of you Ishgardians. Maybe there is something wrong with me that I cannot have the same national pride. Or perhaps it is the treatment Halone's children have given me which keeps me from ever fully belonging to the prideful nation. Sometimes I wonder if I should have tried to venture to Othard instead of wandering around Eorzea when I left Ishgard. Maybe I would find of my own national pride there, where more of mine own kind are.

The only downfall would have been I would have never met you.

Little One

The large home loomed over Joker as she kept the jacket as close to her as possible. Everything felt numb, partially from the cold air and partially from being emotionally drained. There were things she needed to sort out in her own mind, but she knew that would not be until at least the morning. That was if she could even find sleep. Raument pushed open the large wooden doors and Joker slipped through as soon as there were enough room for her. She welcomed the warmth from the fire blazing in the front room. She slipped the jacket off before the door was even closed.

Raument passed her without taking the jacket back. Joker didn't seem fazed by the older man ignoring her actions. Instead she merely kept the jacket in her arms and followed the man up the stairs and to his study as quietly as her shoes would allow. Why did she think the man would allow her to go straight to her room for bed? Of course he wouldn't. Not when they needed to discuss her behavior.

The older elezen motioned to the coat rack in the corner of the room, which Joker went over to and put the jacket on a hook. She set her bag down next to the door of the study. Her pale eyes stared at the cane in the corner as Raument approached it. "Before you can learn from the mistakes, you need to suffer from them," he murmured in a gentle and loving tone.

It was a mechanical response. The young au'ra moved to the desk without the word, too mentally exhausted to say anything to the man. There was no excuse or no begging Joker could even think of to justify her behavior since she had left the comforts of her home. Her chest tightened as her breath hitched, catching sight of the worn cane. She knew she deserved this. She was the one that ended up making the mistakes and not saying something to try to stay in Ul'dah.

Raument moved behind the young woman and the metal of the handle pressed between her shoulder blades to force her to bend over the desk. His arm swung back. "Remember, dear, this hurts me in my heart more than it would ever hurt you. You're the one who broke my heart with your actions." Then the cane hit the back of her upper thighs with a smack. Joker bit down on her bottom lip and winced, closing her eyes to keep herself from showing the pain.

"Yes ser, I know."

Dearest Arman,

I thought the way I ended the last letter would have prompted you to reply. I am childish in that aspect. I think it is time I tell you the full story of when I left Ishgard. I should have told you earlier, but thinking about Ashioux causes a pain in my chest and heart that hasn't dulled since the day I found him.

He went to fight for his city like most of the young men. I didn't want him to. His family didn't want him to. Still he went. We all prepared ourselves for the day we would get a letter than he had died in combat, but he kept coming home. I don't think I could describe the relief when I would wait at the gates of the city and catch sight of him coming home with the other soldiers. Each time gave me more hope that perhaps there was a happy ending in store for the orphaned outsider and the brave knight.

I suppose you are guessing that it was the last battle against Nidhogg and his brood which was the undoing of my fiance, but this is the part of the tale which everyone would be wrong. He came back, the smug man laughing as he saw me waiting for him. It was the greatest feeling I have ever felt to have him come over and take me into his arms, proclaiming the Dragonsong War had ended.

Then the secrets started reaching our ears. How the war had merely been a ploy by the high borns. His reaction was much like your own. There was an anger which I tried to quell. He stormed off, much like you had, needing to be alone. I let him have his night alone. The next morning I snuck into his room, through his window, which I had done before. I was met with the love of my life hanging from a noose tied up to a beam near the ceiling.

Part of me feared I would find the same thing again after you left me that night. He took his own life a few weeks before we were to wed. His family blamed me and didn't allow me to the funeral. Everywhere I went, I kept seeing his ghost. I couldn't be in Ishgard anymore. Raument saw this and gave me the supplies and the chocobo to leave and create my own adventure like the ones who frequented The Forgotten Knight.

I left Ishgard, the only home I had known, and kept going until I found myself in Gridania. I entered that city pure and innocent, never having partaken in alcohol or fend for myself. Maybe I had gotten myself in over my head when I left home.

Can my rock come back to Ul'dah? Even if tis only for one day or two. I need my rock to ground me again and help me out of this mess I've created. I don't know what I am doing anymore.

Little One

The young woman winced as the door closed heavily behind her. She dropped her bag right there next to it, not bothering to unpack. She took unsteady steps to the familiar canopy bed, her legs weak under herself. Welts and bruises were starting to form on the backs of her thighs and under the thin fabric of her shorts. There was a long dress laying there for her, just for the morning, and a long, modest nightgown for her to sleep in.

Like a machine being put back on the line, she dressed in the nightgown and went to lay down in her bed. She stopped as she lifted the covered and looked over to her bag at the door. She sniffed once and then went over to it, digging into the bag until she could find the familiar, worn jacket that was perhaps twice the size of her, probably even more. Her lips cracked into a smile for the first time since she had entered the city. It was a short lived smile as she buried her face into the worn fabrics, inhaling deeply.

The small girl settled herself on the loveseat right at her window, curling up under the jacket, it giving her a warmth no blanket or bed ever could. It gave her a comfort she didn't know she could ever find again in the city, but it also gave her an emptiness that she didn't know she could ever fill again.

"I will always be there for you," came the words from a young male elezen. His tone calm and soothing, it could put even a primal to sleep. He was sitting on the canopy bed, his back against the headboard and his legs folded under one another. The long, inky black hair that was usually in a bun had been down, the locks framing his face.

"You promise?" Joker asked, curled up in his lap and clinging to the linen shirt covering the man who was only older by a few years. Her pale purple eyes stared up into his bright blue orbs. They were searching for any hint of a lie from the man.

His arms tightened around the young woman. His lips lightly kissed the long hair that was perhaps as dark as his own that covered her own head. "I will always return to you. You are my home."

She looked down to the ring around her slim finger with a smile, the red gem in it glistening in the afternoon sun that was peeking through her window. "I pray the Fury allows you to and doesn't take you away from me."

Gentle fingers grip her chin lightly to turn her to face him. The man was full of a conviction to return to her. "Not even the Fury will keep me from coming back to you." Then he leaned down and his lips touched hers.

The same slim fingers that still wore the ring reached up to Joker's eyes as she felt the corners and blinked down at the wetness on them. When did she start crying? She sniffled and turned over on her other side, bringing the jacket tighter around herself and took a deep inhale of the smell of stale whiskey that somehow still clung to it. All it did was cause her to curl up tighter and sob quietly into the worn fabric. Her chest hurt and felt light, like something had been ripped out and was missing from her.

It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky that there was a knock on her bedroom door. "My petite daffodil? Are you awake?" asked a gentle voice, the same voice that had been rougher and full of anger merely the night before.

She tried to open her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She quickly wiped away the already dried tears, as if it would somehow unlock her voice. It didn't. There were a few moments of silence before the door opened anyways.

Raument stood at the door, his eyes narrowing at the empty before they scanned the room to land on the small form on the loveseat. He slowly approached it and put a hand on the shoulder of the form. "Dear, it is time to wake up." His eyes gave the jacket a once over before a low, dangerous sound came from him. He jerked the jacket off of her, Joker nearly falling out of the loveseat. "Is this his?" his voice bellowed.

There was no response from Joker, but her wide, frightened eyes spoke volumes to him. Joker had to scramble to her feet as Raument turned on his heel to stride out of the room. For every long stride he took, Joker needed to take two or three steps of her own to keep up to him. "Raument!" she protested.

"How dare you bring something of that heretic's into this house! Have I not taught you better?!" his voice filled the stone house as he made his way to the fireplace of the front room. There was another sound of protest from Joker as he threw it into the fire.

She dove for the fireplace to pull the jacket out of it, having to swat at the ends and the sleeve that had already caught fire. "Why would you do that?" she asked in her own meek and timid voice. She ignored the pain in her palm as she beat the flames off of the cloth.

"He told me to! That heretic said to burn it if I found it and I did," he hissed. The hard stare he gave the girl didn't even falter as he saw her diminishing the flames with a bare hand. All he did was kneel down next to her and grab her wrist to look at the soot covering her hand that looked like it might have been burned. "And now I have to take you to the healer. Couldn't you have just behaved for one day? Just given me one day to figure out how to reintroduce you to the people of the city? No, you had to go and do this. And now everyone is going to know the whore is back."

She blinked away the tears forming in her eyes, he had never called her that word before. Though she was also a good girl before she left the city. She tried to pull her hand back, using her free arm to keep the jacket close to her. "I...I'm not a whore," she whispered, but her voice broke and gave away how much she didn't even believe her own words.

Arman,

You are really worrying me. I need to hear from you. I need to see you. There is nothing more I need right now. If I knew where you were, I would go to you myself.

I took a day trip to Limsa Lominsa, thinking you would be there. I even asked around, but no one has seen you. I'm lost and I need you. You said you would be my rock. You said you would come back to me. A rock doesn't abandon someone who needs them.

Joker

She waited in the room, twisting the ring around her finger. Her grey hair was put up into a tight bun, something that she hadn't done since she left Ishgard. She smoothed out the few wrinkled on her dress, trying to steady her shaking hands. The healers in Ul'dah were not the same kind of healer as the man Raument had made her go see.

In the beginning, Joker simply went to this man as a child because Raument could bribe him into staying quiet about him having an au'ra in his care. As the years went on, it was just a convenience to keep going to the man. As much as Joker protested each and every time, Raument still made her go to the good healer, Eaulfix.

Eaulfix was an old man, to put it kindly. His hair went past the stage of greying Raument was currently in and was pure white. The beard and mustache he kept were the same shade. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth would normally give him a more welcoming feeling, but Joker knew better.

If she were an elezen, it would be no problem. He would simply look at the burns, give her some medicine, and send her on her way. It just wasn't the case. Joker shut her eyes tight when asked to remove her dress behind the curtain so he could take a look at her. The shakes were back. Every fiber in her being told her to run, but she was frozen to the spot while undoing the laces on the front of her dress and slipping it off. She folded it onto the cot that she had sat on.

Eaulfix raised a concerned eyebrow at the bandages already on the young woman, which only made her stomach turn before he even asked if he could remove them. If she had said no, she knew he would go out there and tell Raument about them. As long as she took them off and complied, there was the chance Raument would never know.

The healer was already reaching for the stitching on her collar before the bandages had a chance to settle on the ground. He made a few sounds as he inspected them and then asked her to lay down so he could inspect the stitching on the claw marks across her stomach. He gave another satisfied sound. "It seems the healers in Ul'dah know what they are doing." Joker gave no response.

He kept her laying down on the cot as he took the burned hand, prodding and poking it to see just how bad it was. The healer ended up putting an ointment on it and wrapping the hand. He rewrapped the other wounds, putting his own ointment on them to keep them from getting infected.

If Joker were an elezen, he would let her get dressed and leave, but Joker was an au'ra and not an elezen. Eaulfix ran wrinkled fingers over the scaling on Joker's calf. She shut her eyes and that sick feeling was back. If there were something in her stomach, she knew she would have thrown up.

He went into his drawers and took out a pair of tongs and a scalpel. Her stomach fluttered with her nerves. He clamped the tongs around a scale and used the scalpel to slice into the flesh and get a few of the scales loose for his collection.

Dearest Arman,

I'm sorry if I sounded angry in the last letter. Just please come back to Ul'dah. I don't care what it takes to get you here, I will pay your way. If gil isn't the issue, I will do whatever. Please come back and save me. This is me on my hands and knees, begging you.

Little One

There was a bandage on her calf where the healer had taken her scales. Eventually they would grow back, they always did. There was also a bit of bruising on the inside of her elbow, where the man had drawn blood. It had been a few days and Joker seemed to slip into a routine of fake smiles and manners to Raument. It made him happy and perhaps he wouldn't hurt her again or make her go back to the healer if he were happy.

Which is why it came as no surprise to the young au'ra when Raument suggested going to visit the aesthetician. Joker only gave her grey hair a glance. Yes, it was her natural color, but it also wasn't the hair of a lady.

She slipped into the new, black boots and slipped on her new gloves, them covering the bandaging around her hand. She gave them a wide smile. The more she smiled, one day it would be real again. That was how it worked, right? The jacket was draped over her loveseat, the cuff of one of the arms burned and the ends of it singed. She still couldn't sleep without it, but perhaps she would be able to soon enough.

"My darling daffodil," she could hear the gentle words carry up the stairs. There was a forced giggle from her as she practically floated out of her room and down the stairs to the man. He leaned down and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Father," she said, the words sounding wrong coming out of her mouth. It were the title Raument wanted her to call him and who was she to reject the old man's request after he saved her? Not only from the streets when she were a child, but now from the dangerous streets of Ul'dah.

The aesthetician was already waiting in the front room for her. Joker gave her a polite bow, which was returned to her. It didn't take long for the grey hair to be turned an inky black or for it to be tamed and straightened. Even the new bangs were done in a few quick snips of the scissors.

"Now there is my young daughter," Raument murmured when he finally got to see the work the aesthetician had done for them. "Now we can have you going around Ishgard and looking for a new fiance, hm?" Those were the words to break the spell. The words that broke Joker's smile and made her run to her room to lock herself away.

It took Raument a few days to get her to come out. The fake smiles were back, but the young woman couldn't bring herself to fool herself again that this was home. She was stuck there, but it was not home.

Dearest Arman,

Are you not coming back because you have found another little one? Is it because you know I haven't been physically hurt yet? If I were to take a knife and slide it across my throat, would that be the thing to bring you back? Would it even hurt much? I think it would be worth it, just to have you come back and let me lean on you again.

Is this your way of making me learn to get myself out of my own problems? Any other time and I wouldn't mind. This time, I can't. I can't see how I can get myself out of this mess. It has snowballed and turned into a mess where I can't even see the light anymore. I wake up every morning in darkness and go to sleep in the same darkness. Alcohol doesn't even numb it anymore.

Please, at least write me back. I just need to read one word from you and perhaps I will have the strength to continue on.

Your Little One

It took Joker a week before she found herself at The Forgotten Knight. Raument was already asleep and she managed to slip out of the house. The hardest part was finding a dress in her new wardrobe that was casual enough for the tavern.

"May I have a bottle of whiskey and a glass?" she asked in a soft voice as she leaned against the bar, fitting her small body between two men that were sitting at it. She flashed both of them an apologetic smile. They didn't seem to notice or care though. It was better that way, she didn't find either of them attractive.

When she got her bottle and the glass, she strode over to the table near the fire. She made sure to sway her hips just right in order to garner the attention of someone before she even sat down. Her slim fingers uncorked the bottle and slowly poured her first glass.

As soon as her lips touched the glass for her first sip, there was a midlander sitting down to join her. She tilted the glass back to take her first sip. It was weaker than the whiskey she drank in Ul'dah, but it would do the job of numbing her enough to not care who it was she ended up home with.

There was a smile plastered on her face as she set her glass down. "Good evening," she started, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on her knee, her chin resting in her hand. She tilted her head just a bit in order to give herself a bit more of an innocent look, most men preferred it.

"'Evening," he replied, his voice smooth. She already knew this midlander was older than herself, but he held soft features that were framed by long, dark brown locks that were held back in a ponytail. It wasn't a bad thing and she knew she wouldn't even care after she finished her bottle.

"What brings you to the great Holy See of Ishgard?" she asked and made sure to add a cute little giggle at the end of her sentence. Really, she didn't care, not this time. She just wanted to get drunk and have him make her forget herself for perhaps an hour or two.

A man came by to delivery a large mug of mead for the midlander. He took it and took a large drink from it before saying a word. "I heard there were dragons to fight."

Joker was quiet as she took a slow sip from her whiskey. She gave the midlander another once over. He had a bow with him, but he looked like he was new to adventuring. His skin was too soft to have been worn away by years of harsh weather or fighting. "You're going to end up dead," she said, trying to be as playful as possible.

He took the bait. He went on to stories of taking down large monsters to impress her. Joker gave the appropriate nods and giggles as she slowly sipped at her glass, refilling it when she needed to. Once he had finished his fourth mug and she had finally found the bottom of her bottle, only then did he suggest a walk around the city to clear their heads. If only it were just a walk.

All he needed was for her to lead him down an ally for him to show his true intentions. He had her pinned against the wall as his mouth covered hers. She let out the appropriate moan and whimper to egg him on. His body pressed against hers and a hand was already fumbling to get under the skirts of her dress to pull away her panties.

The au'ra didn't resist him. She let out a begging whine for him to continue. Her hands slipped up his shirt and gripped his smooth back. It was wrong. The smoothness of his skin, not riddled with a single scar. It felt wrong. Even as he forced his length inside of her and she let out a gasp, all she could think about was how wrong it was to be taken by a man with such smooth skin, whose body didn't tower over hers. Someone who she might even be able to beat should they get into a fight.

The one thing that kept at the front of her mind as he had sex with her against that wall was how the man didn't have the scars to show his body had been through hell and back. It was wrong.

Dearest Arman,

I went to Limsa Lominsa again to look for you. No one has seen you. I even went to Gridania. You know I hate Gridania. I went there looking for you. I went there because of you. No one there has seen you either.

Are you dead? Did your stubbornness finally kill you? No, nothing could kill you. I know you are alive. You have to be. You have to be somewhere. You have to be getting these letters. If you aren't, I don't know what I would do. Please just send me something saying you are okay. I can't continue if I know there is no chance of you being able to be my rock once more.

Your Little One

Of course Raument was waiting for the young woman when she returned home. He smelled the alcohol and the sex on her. She couldn't even give him a name of who she had been with. He smacked her across the face, it was the first time he had ever done so. All Joker could do was laugh in his face. That was when he took her to his study again. The cane was brought out and a new set of welts were given to the back of her thighs and her rear. And she laughed the whole time between her wincing.

Afterwards she found herself in her bathroom with a tub filled of hot water and bubbles. She slowly lowered her body, the stabbing on her calf stinging as it hit the water. The wounds on her collar and stomach had at least closed and started their scarring process, she could be thankful for that. Though her thighs and rear were on fire from the welts and the few places where her skin were broken.

She leaned her head back and took a glass she had brought in with her, filled with a glowing blue liquid, and drowned it quicker than she ever did with alcohol. The glass slipped from her hands and shattered against the wooden flooring. She merely giggled.

She sunk down deeper into the hot water and let out a content sigh. She lifted her leg into the air and brought her fingers over to the stab, lightly touching it as she frowned. Raument had to know the healer did that, but he didn't say or do a thing. Mostly because the healer was willing to stay quiet about her and anything he found.

The young woman slipped her body down until her head was under the water. She held her breath and shut her eyes tightly. The hurt in her chest hadn't gone away since she arrived. Ishgard didn't even feel like home anymore. It just felt like the frozen city she had entered as a child. The ghost of Ashioux still belonged to the city and so did the ghost of her former self, but she knew she had changed since then. She was no longer the woman who would be happy settling down and popping out a few kids, or at least trying her hardest to become pregnant by the man she had loved.

Had loved? No, she still loved Ashioux and didn't see herself ever giving up that part of her heart. Ashioux was not Ishgard though. Ishgard was a dead, frozen city that had rejected the man she wanted to save her. Rejected the man she still held some hope would come through the gates and save her.

Dearest Arman,

I love you. There must be a part of you which knows this by now.

Your Little One

She gasped, feeling light headed as she finally surfaced from the water.

"Little one, you have to do this on your own. I can't help you this time."

The words repeated themselves as she panted to catch her breath. Her lungs burned from being under the water for so long. Her eyes stung as the bubbles slowly slid into them as she blinked. This time she would have to save herself and Joker knew how. All she needed was to wait for the right time to leave and return home.