#ch: zenos yae galvus

[galvus]

prompt: anon • words: 345 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] soon; shortly.

“Stay.”

The word was a hand wrapped around her wrist, dragging her back into the treacherously soft bed despite her best efforts. The hand wrapped around her wrist also pulled her back in. Zenos’s warm palms were good at coaxing her into forgetting why she rose in the first place.

He wound his arms around her and laid his mouth to the soft rise of her breast where the unlaced neck of her blouse left it bare.

“Forget the call.” With each new word, the Garlean prince’s words smeared against her skin. “Feign poor weather as opposed to your utter disinterest.”

“I’m not…”

Annette’s chop of brown hair intermingled with his blond as she tilted her head down against his, her fingers climbing up his throat to rest at the nape of his long, love-marred neck. He reacted as prettily as he always did, with an arch and a sigh and a much-needed stretch. Quietly, she assured him, “I’m not disinterested. They are my friends, and I must go to them. Now.”

Friends that were awaiting her in Kugane. Friends who did not know of the bed she’d been pulled back into. They needed her, but the thought of riding her chocobo after the previous night’s exertions made her thighs ache.

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, where his golden hair split to bare a sun-burned scalp.

“I must leave,” she whispered. “Soon.”

Zenos smiled without lifting his mouth from her chest, like the cat that got the cream.

“Oh, how quickly now becomes soon,” he said, his voice caught between a low rumble and a hum. The hand that had dragged her back down into bed slid over her back, over the generous swell of her ass, and to those aching thighs. “When will it become tomorrow? Or, perhaps… never?”

“Never,” Annette echoed, her brows arched and point made. “Soon will remain soon.”

They fell back onto the pillows with a huff and a laugh, knowing well that they would spend another night lost in each other.

[fooltofancy]

one and the same

[rivensbane]

ZENOS "CAN YOU HURRY THIS UP SO WE CAN FIGHT ALREADY?" YAE GALVUS

[kingsroad]

— oh, to have been lured into a sweeter trap.

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 14 - Wallflower

“Good morning, Honey.”

Ever since he had learned of your schedule, Elidibus had elected to chat with you each morning for the duration of his stay. You found it incredibly strange, considering that you came from two different worlds. Nevermind that he was a government official, coming from Garlemald of all places was reason enough to have different ideals.

Garlemald was slow to step into a new era and join the rest of the world in democracy, clinging to an emperor until they were brought down by peer pressure. Their monarch had lost a majority of his power, but still had a large amount of sway over government matters. Elidibus was the true ruler, with a surprisingly low profile. You weren’t sure how to feel with someone so important deigning to eat breakfast with you nearly every morning…

Or that that fact had spurred Zenos to join you as well.

“Good morning, Elidibus.”

Zenos is never far behind, always seeming to show up right as Elidibus does. Dressed in his workout clothes, he towers over the two of you, his expression blank to the untrained eye, but it is the ever so slight furrow of his brow that hints at his annoyance as soon as ruby eyes meet crystal blue.

“Good morning to you as well, young Zenos.” Elidibus hums, a curious smile on his face. He sounds as if he knows something you do not, and truthfully that is a feeling you get from him any time he opens his mouth. As a result, you’ve tried to be as friendly as one can, while also taking anything he says at face value. “Joining us for breakfast once again?”

Zenos doesn’t bother to answer, merely strolling into the dining room. Sighing at his lack of manners, you trudge along behind him, hearing Elidbus’ footsteps follow close behind. You take your seat next to Zenos, knowing he would throw a fit if you even bothered to sit near Elidibus. He never tries to make conversation; he merely sits there quietly until you are served, only offering commentary if Elidibus seems to ask something he doesn’t like.

“Are you ready for today's events?” Elidibus asks, paying no mind to the maid pouring his coffee. A tray of cream and exactly two cubes of sugar are placed in front of him, complete with a delicate stirring spoon.

“What’s there to be ready for?” You counter, more than used to his prying. You had caught on quickly that Elidibus was the type to ask questions yet reveal nothing. Any attempts to know anything more than his favorite color were rebuffed with carefully chosen words or a query of his own.

“Oh nothing, we shall hope. The previous incident certainly has a lot of guests on edge…” he trails off, plunking the two cubes of sugar into his cup. With practiced hands he stirs, and you swear he’s somehow able to stir in a perfect circle.

“I’ve been informed that there will be extra security,” you comment, sitting back as the maid places your cup of apple juice in front of you. Zenos throws you a small sneer to which you arch a single eyebrow daring him to not let you have your one sugar fix. He stays quiet. “And as you have seen, I am more than capable of taking care of Zenos. Varis’ own guards will be at the gala to protect him, and I’m sure things will be fine.”

The “event” as Elidibus had mentioned, was a charity gala. You had taken a peek at the attendee list and saw all kinds of names: from singers like Cirina, to actors like Hildibrand. There would be no shortage of high profile names, and though you would only be given the opportunity to gawk, you were excited nonetheless even if you did your best to not show it. A part of you wishes it was you getting dolled up in an elegant evening gown, your hair and makeup done, hand in the crook of a handsome man’s arm or even a beautiful woman…

“Honey.”

You snap out of your daydream as your breakfast is set in front of you, blinking the imagery away. Zenos throws you an inquisitive look and you merely shrug him off, deciding to pay more attention to the plate of Dzo eggs and various fruits before you. “With the added security, I think things will be fine. It might be a bit awkward for celebrities to have to be escorted around by their bodyguards, but it is with their safety in mind.”

“Well put.” Elidibus thrums, smiling gently as he is served.

“Will you be attending, Emissary?” You ask, cutting your fruit into bite sized pieces. Your time at the table has allowed you more time to grow familiar with the cutlery, with Elidibus’ instruction. Much like Zenos, he was a surprisingly patient teacher, and you didn’t sense any condescension from him either.

That or he was great at hiding it.

“Attending the event? No, not this time. As a political figure, I have no business attending such an event, even if it is for charity.” Elidibus replies, dabbing at his full lips gently with a napkin. “An event such as that has long lost its luster for me anywho. If I did go, it would be to see your reaction to our world.”

You snort in a very unladylike fashion, having long lost any sense of propriety when Elidibus was around. “Not like I’m going there to dress up in a pretty gown and grab a couple champagne flutes myself. I’m going there for work, and work is what I’ll do.”

Elidibus lets out a rich laugh at that, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “Well said from someone as dedicated as yourself, Honey. Young Zenos has little to fear with someone who focuses so hard on their duty by his side.”

You resist the urge to snort again, instead settling for a light shrug of your shoulders. “Someone’s gotta take care of him.” He clearly can’t do it himself, almost rolls off your tongue, but you bite it back, remembering that Elidibus does not see your treatment of the young heir. It had been annoying to be on your so-called “best behavior” around the Emissary, but at Zenos’ request, all insults and back sass had to be reserved behind closed doors.

And speaking of behind closed doors…

Zenos’ would stand there and take your insults in stride as he always had. The only difference now is that given the opportunity, especially in private, he would not hesitate to make some lewd innuendo in response.

“Could you focus you actual twelve year old--”

“I am focusing.”

You yelp as your feet are suddenly kicked from underneath you, back crashing hard into the floor. Even with your quick reflexes, the pain of your landing makes you too slow to roll out of the way of Zenos who comes to pin you in place. “It is not my fault if you can’t keep your mind out of the gutter long enough to prevent yourself from losing focus, my beast.” His hair whispers against your skin as he looms above you, ice blue eyes blocking out the bright, fluorescent light. “I never thought you so easily flustered.”

Your lip curls in indignation as you lie completely still beneath him. Zenos knows how to pin someone, his bulk be damned. If he wanted you to slip from his grip, he would let you. Giving him your own smirk, you arch your chest at him, not missing how his eyes dart down for the briefest of moments. “You wish I was flustered.” It is your turn to purr at him, taking note of how desire slowly creeps into his gaze.

He lowers himself, wisps of his breath trailing across your face. You’re not even sure if you’re still breathing yourself, truly going still underneath him. “And if I did?”

You give him a roguish grin, all teeth. “I make it a habit to not sleep with people I don’t like.”

He barks out a laugh at that, head canting back for a moment as his entire body shakes with the force of his laughter. As it abates, you swear the desire had mixed with reverence. “You will fight me to the bitter end, won’t you?” He sighs almost dreamily, a hand coming to cradle your chin, thumb running across your bottom lip. “Suppose I accept your challenge. What must one do to gain your affections?”

Your eyes widen before narrowing, positive he’s just yanking your chain. “Not being a fucking murderer would be a good start.” You deadpan, starting to feel your leg fall asleep.

“I am not a murderer, but an enforcer.” He tries, having the nerve to give a sheepish smile.

“Yeah. You enforce your will, through murder.”

“Semantics.” He waves nonchalantly, as if making light of all the men he’s killed is as simple a topic as the weather. “I do not enjoy the act of the kill itself. Quickly now; tell me what else.”

Your throat constricts without your warning, unsure how to feel about this line of questioning. “Nothing, you bastard, I hate you, what do you not get,”

He chuckles deep in his throat, the sound vibrating through you at every point of contact. “Oh, Honey...if I wanted you, I would have you.”

With one of your hands free, you waste no time socking him in the jaw.

The blow manages to rattle him enough given that you held back none of your strength. It shifts his weight just enough that you can push him off of you and storm out the room without another word.

Even though you know it’s Zenos’ status and bulk that has probably prevented anyone from telling him he’s an insensitive prick, it doesn’t stop the sting you feel in your chest from feeling any worse than it already does. His confidence was more exasperating than it was attractive, his self assuredness more irritating than it was sexy. You could not expect genuine feeling from someone like him--

Not ever.

With a sigh, you retreat back to your room, deciding to enjoy some time to yourself before the charity event later this evening. Thankfully it seemed like Zenos was able to take a hint, remaining blessedly absent for a few hours, or perhaps he went to go busy himself with whatever preparations he needed to do.

As you lounge upon your bed, your (Galvus Enterprises issued) cell phone gives a ring. Rolling across the soft top you snag it, giving it a quick look, beaming as you see it is a welcome caller.

“Heya, Ardbert!” You greet happily.

“Hey.” He responds in kind, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How’s it goin’?”

“Eh, the usual. Same shit, different day, you know?” You groan, rolling back to your original position on your back. You mindlessly wiggle your legs as you stare at the art on the underside of your canopy. “Just killing time before this charity event or whatever. You goin’?”

He snorts. “Like I have a choice.” He laughs. “These events are super boring. I’m charging my phone and tablet ‘cause I gotta stay out in the car for hours. Don’t even get to come in and get some free hors d'oeuvres.”

“No worries, I’ll make sure to shove some in my pockets to save for you on my way out.” You snicker.

“I’m sure the Flint Caviar will taste wonderful after sitting in your pockets for a few hours.” He jokes, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter. You sit and giggle for a few seconds, before both of you begin to settle down.

“So...you sounded a little down when you picked up. Anything wrong?” He asks. As usual, there was no hiding from Ardbert, and so there was no point in lying to him either. Besides, who else could you confide in and gripe to about your boss?

“It’s nothing really, just Zenos being his usual, bastard self.” You sigh, flopping your legs out. You had started to calm down but just thinking about what he said gets your blood to boiling again.

“Oh no. What was it this time?” Ardbert questions, his very voice a comfort.

“He keeps flirting with me. After telling me weeks ago that he wouldn’t ever make a move or be interested because someone has to keep things ‘professional’. But ever since I saved his ass, he can’t seem to help himself! He has no concept of personal space and has the nerve to make some shitty innuendo and turn around and make it sound like I should be lucky to have his attention!” You didn’t realize you had raised your voice until you could hear Ardbert shushing you through the phone.

“Sounds like he got under your skin real good…” He trails off, clearly unsure what advice to impart.

“Sorry. Usually he doesn’t, but just… I don’t know. He said that if he wanted me, he would have me and that just…”

It’s Ardbert’s turn to sigh into the phone. “Look, Honey. You are a wonderful woman. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Someone who’s smart and can kick ass. Just ignore him for now. He might keep you on a tight leash, but you still have your own life to live, yeah? Why not show him by getting out more? You said you should be lucky to have his attention. Why not show him what he’s missin’ out on?”

“Deny it all you like, my beast. You are mine, and mine alone, no matter how much you may hate me. Until you breathe your last breath, I never intend to let you go.”

“Yeah.” You reply, staring blankly at the canopy. “You’re right. Thanks Artie.”

“Oh? We’re doing nicknames now?” he chuckles, the sound filled with genuine amusement.

Ardbert’s pep talk puts you in a far better mood for the event later that night. As the sun sets on Hingashi, you don your freshly pressed and starched event suit, thankful that it is a new one and they’re not making you reuse the one from the hospital. Seeing as you’re not spending hours putting on makeup or trying to fit into a dress, you finish in record time, making your way to the debriefing room where Livia and Rhitahtyn await you.

Since the “incident”, they have shown a concern bordering on fear for you. It is not a concern for your mental health and well being because they care and want you to do well, but a concern where they fear saying the wrong thing will make you snap and cost them their lives.

Not that you know anyone like that.

Done with explanations, you grab your linkpearl and head to the garage where Zenos is waiting for Ardbert to pull up underneath the awning. Father and son step into the limo while the security team gets in unmarked, black cars, sunglasses on as they prepare for a long night. The drive is somewhat long, as you have to cross town to get the Rakusui Gardens, which is normally public, but has been closed off for the event tonight. Just seeing the hoards of cameras and paparazzi as you pull up makes you groan outwardly, waving away the driver’s look of confusion. With a shrug, they wrap up their job by pulling in behind the Galvus’ limo, the wheels having barely stopped as you open the door and hop out.

You find you’re thankful for the shades as they protect your eyes from the unbearable camera flashes. Livia beats you to the door as she opens it, the crowd going wild as Varis steps out first, followed by Zenos. He makes a sharp figure in his tuxedo, the obviously tailored pieces fitting to him like a glove. A wistful sigh escapes your lips without your realizing it as you sidle up to him, keeping fairly close as he strides down the red carpet behind his father.

The water of the pond reflects the many hanging lights from trees, and the glitter of jewelry. Already you can see notable figures such as the artist Alphinaud, with several of his pieces for sale on display. Environmental activist Kan-e-Senna catches your eye as well, her white gown accentuating her youthful features. It’s hard to not be a little star struck being around so many celebrities, and it’s only when Zenos clears his throat do you quickly turn your attention back to the task at hand.

“I’m allowed to look.” You hiss under your breath, throwing him a glare.

“Look, yes. Gawk, no.” He taunts, reaching to grab a champagne flute from a nearby waiter. “At least try to look like this isn’t your first time seeing the sun, and you, a blind man.”

You grab two flutes from the tray before the waiter can slip away and down both in one gulp for each. Were you not in public, you would throw them at him for extra measure, but instead place them down gently on a nearby table. “Finished?” you hear him ask, his voice betraying his entertainment.

“I could probably down a dozen more to have to deal with your insufferable ass tonight.” You grumble as you trudge back over to him, thankful your glasses shield your eyes and therefore, won’t betray your emotions.

“If I am so insufferable, why don’t you go scurry off then?” He asks, making his way through the crowd. Where most people would weave through the throngs of people, it was almost scary to see how people would just naturally move out of his way, even if they were deep in conversation.

“And have your father fuss at me for being out of arm’s reach? No thanks.” You snort, content with simply gazing at the lavish decorations. It was like being in a magical wonderland, and you couldn’t help but feel enchanted. “I doubt you want me handing your father’s ass to him to make the news.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He jokes, throwing you a sly grin. You try to ignore the way your heart stops for a second. “If you must stay near, then we might as well start our little charade.”

The charade, of course, involves talking to all manner of celebrities and making good impressions. Zenos is a surprisingly good actor; able to flip the switch of his charm to where he’s a different man entirely. People seem to be drawn to him like moths to a flame, not knowing danger if it stared them in the face. You had seen a few blush under his attention while the bolder would silently slip him their number. You grit your teeth as he palmed each one into a pocket, politely kissing the backs of hands and allowing casual hugs. Things he would never--

“Honey, get us a drink, if you would.” He orders and you take the out as soon as you’re given. So caught up in needing to get away, you temporarily forget your need to stay close to him for your job. You reach a table filled to the brim of various, rich foods, feeling a little lighter now that you’ve put distance between the two of you.

“You look like you could use something heavier than champagne, yeah?”

On full alert your eyes jump up to meet blue ones, preparing a retort before you realize these aren’t the same blue eyes you know. While cold, these have an almost jagged edge to them, much like the silver hair framing the man’s face. Pointed, Elezen ears peek out from the snow white locks, the tips a rosy red. Thick, strong eyebrows are furrowed in a scowl, with lush lips pulled into a frown. “Are you done staring?”

Snapping from your stupor, you have the decency to mumble an apology and avert your gaze. The stranger scoffs and reaches inside his coat. Your instincts go on high alert, a hand of your swiftly moving to reach for his wrist before it is intercepted by his other hand. Your eyes widen at the man’s quick reflexes, to which he simply arches a single eyebrow. “Calm down. I’m just trying to help you. I know who you are.” He pulls out a simple, silver flask, giving it a shake so you can hear what must be liquor sloshing inside.

He flexes his hand around your wrist, and you realize he’s waiting for you to go slack. “Well? You want some?”

Still wary, you release the tension you had been holding, and he lets you go. “Only if you tell me who you are.”

Tutting, he twists the cap off the flask and takes a long sip. Smacking his lips with a smile, you can smell what is a strong bourbon on his breath. “Only if you tell me yours. Name’s Estinien.” He holds out the flask once more. “Last time I’m gonna ask.”

Taking it from his hand, you stare at it for a moment before quickly taking a gulp. The bourbon burns, but in a silky smooth way. High quality bourbon apparently. “I’m Honey.” you return, giving his flask back to him.

Grunting his thanks, he twists the cap back on in one turn and shoves it back inside his blazer. “Bodyguard to the Galvus heir right?”

Biting your lip, you wonder if he’s just digging for information, or genuinely making small talk. “Oh come on, I’m trying to make conversation here. Not like you weren’t all over the bloody news a few weeks ago.”

Huffing, you cross your arms defensively. “I am here on business you know.” You do your best to maintain a neutral expression, but something about his gruffness knocks you off balance.

“So am I. You think you’re the only bodyguard stuck here?” He questions, arching a wintry brow. “I’ve had my eye on you ever since you got here. I’m free to roam wherever the hell I want; so long as I keep boss man in sight.”

At his comment, your eyes search out Zenos in the crowd, able to find him easily as he towers over the majority of them. He’s still winning over whatever woman he’s with at the moment, and for the most part, safe, so he doesn’t need your attention still. “Considering the last time I went out, my client was nearly killed. Forgive me if I try to hang a bit closer.”

“Apology accepted.” Estinien grins roguishly and your face goes up in flames at how good it looks on his handsome features. “Aside from that disaster, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you. Seems like he keeps you on an equally tight leash, huh?”

Reaching for what looks to be some sort of fish on a nearby table, you pop it into your mouth to bide some time to figure out a crafty answer. “He keeps a low profile compared to his father. Everyone knows who Livia is, right?”

“That bitch? Who doesn’t?” He snorts, leaning back against the table. His rough demeanor has you warming up to him rather than feeling pushed away. Maybe something was wrong with you… “Anytime I’ve tried to talk to her, she’s had a stick up her ass. But I’m not surprised. All the Garlean bastards do.”

Oh, you two would get along just fine.

“You’re definitely a better conversationalist than I’ve heard here tonight.” You compliment, to which his grin grows. You find yourself girlishly amused by his antics.

“Well, not like I got anything else to do tonight ‘til I can go home. Might as well and try to find someone interesting to talk to.” His handsome grin hasn’t left his face, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. Keeping Zenos in your sights, you remain there by the table, unsure of how much time passes as you continue to talk with Estinien. Guests come and go, art is sold, and the trays slowly empty as the night wanes on. You can’t remember anyone making you laugh as much as Estinien had, as he shares some of the happier blunders of his youth. You wonder how you can ask for his number without being so...obvious.

“Making friends Estinien?”

Turning, an older man (or is he younger?) strolls up to you two. Dressed in his own tuxedo, he shares the same frostbitten hair as Estinien, though that is where most similarities end. Far shorter in stature, a pair of goggles sits on his forehead, his jawline covered by a well groomed beard. Something about him seems familiar...you’ve seen his face before.

“You’re the one who told me to go mingle, Cid.” Estinien drawls, suddenly prickly as a pear.

“Cid?” Your eyes widen as you take in the stockier man before you. “As in Cid nan Garlond? Creator of Ironworks?” You gasp, unable to keep the stars from your eyes.

He gives you a warm smile. “The one and only. Might I have the pleasure of your name?”

Shyly, you tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “My name is Honey, and I’m the bodyguard of Zenos yae Galvus.”

His eyebrows shoot up for just a second as he glances at Estinien. You miss Estinien give a curt nod to Cid. “Oh, is that so?” His hand fishes into his pocket for a brief second before he extends it in an offer to shake. As you clasp your hand with his, you feel cardstock beneath your palm. As your eyebrows arch in confusion, he gives you a wink. “It is not often we get to meet on...kinder terms with our competitors.”

“Kinder, Garlond?”

Quickly releasing his hand you spin to find Varis has somehow snuck up on your little gathering, usual frown in place. His hair is neatly braided down his back, tuxedo accentuating his figure just like his son’s. Cid gives Varis an innocent smile, one that shows no fear. “Of course, Galvus. After all, you are such a fierce competitor and as such we haven’t been able to speak as companions. I was merely commenting on the novelty of meeting an employee of yours that was not so...abrasive.”

Varis’ frown deepens, clearly unsatisfied with Cid backhanded comment. “She is certainly more...docile than others in my employ. However, I have heard of her ferocity.” You flinch as Varis places a hand on your shoulder, wishing desperately to move away. “Did you have a reason for talking to my bodyguard?” You swear you can feel bile rise in your throat.

Cid still smiles, betraying nothing. “Personally, no. I had seen her speaking with my own bodyguard here, and was curious who he had found to chat with. She was a new face as far as I could tell. We had just finished introductions when you had arrived.” Varis’ cold, golden eyes slide over to Estinien, who looks like he’s one hair away from telling him to fuck off.

“I see. Perhaps your own bodyguard could benefit to learn from her.” Varis comments to which Estinien starts to open his mouth before Cid places a steadying hand in front of him. Estinien huffs as he casts a murderous look at the Galvus patriarch.

 “That actually sounds like an excellent idea, Galvus. Would you be opposed to Honey coming over to see what Estinien is lacking?” Cid proposes, pressing firmly on Estinien who throws him an exasperated look.

Varis considers him a moment, looking between you and the Ironworks CEO. Giving your shoulder a firm squeeze, he speaks, “An agreeable idea, Garlond. Since she is so much kinder, as you have said, perhaps this can be the start of coming to more...agreeable terms with one another.” Varis finally releases you and you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

“Excellent. I will have the two exchange information. Until next time, Varis.” He nods, at the much taller man, before turning to you. “And to you, Miss Honey,” he holds out his hand to which Estinien places a glossy, blue card in it. Flipping it over, he whips out a pin from inside his blazer and scribbles a number down. “Please take this. This should have Estinien’s contact info so that you may reach him and organize for your meeting at a later date.” Taking the card from him you give him a slight bow and a murmur of thanks. “I believe it is time for us to start making our way home. Good evening to you both.”

You watch as the pair stride away, taking a moment to glance at the business card you were given. Estinien Wyrmblood is printed in elegant lettering, complete with his contact information. You can still smell some of his cologne lingering on it, finding it pleasant.

“Do not dally on meeting with them.” Varis cuts into your thoughts, causing you to turn to him. One brow of his is upraised as he looks down at you, though with infinitely less disdain than you had met. The way he looks at you makes you uncomfortable being belief, wishing to be anywhere else but here. “I certainly do not know Garlond’s motives, but you will be useful in figuring out what they are.”

Furrowing your brow at him, your cross your arms in defiance. “I’m a bodyguard, not a spy.”

“I am aware. However, this is the first time Garlond has ever entertained ‘building a bridge’. You will simply need to act as you normally do. Meet with this Estinien; see what happens.”

He smirks just as Zenos strolls up, lips curled cruelly.

“That is an order.”

[whittertwitter]

WoL/Zenos in a nutshell.

[sforzie]

Chapters: 44/44 Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light Characters: Aymeric de Borel, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Alisaie Leveilleur, Zenos yae Galvus, Estinien Wyrmblood, Lucia goe Junius, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Alphinaud Leveilleur Additional Tags: Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi-Classed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light is a Milf, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, post 5.0 canon divergence, pre 5.3 lore, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Needs Therapy, Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Established Relationship, Marriage, Infidelity, Infidelity Doesn't Always End the Relationship, Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Past Lives, Soul Bond, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Multiple, Flashbacks, The Echo (Final Fantasy XIV), Lost Love, Unintentional Polyamory, Combat Violence, Hey Zenos Did Not Consent to Being a Vessel, Zenos yae Galvus Has Feelings, But he's still Zenos, Idiot as a term of endearment, Halone Help Me This Will Have a Happy Ending Summary:

With the trials of the First completed, a weary Warrior of Light is ready to go home to her family. But the troubles she left behind on the Source are still waiting for her... namely, her dedicated hunter, Zenos yae Galvus. A new set of trials await the Warrior of Light as she struggles to keep the peace in Ishgard, her love life, and her self. [Shifting PoVs: Warrior of Light (Summer Ruby), Aymeric de Borel] --- Ch 44: Ishgard, for now, is safe and sound, under the [loving] protection of the Warrior of Light. [[STORY COMPLETE]]

[starcunning]

This Beast That Rends Me: 5 Apr

Hi I obliterated my word count target for the day but I still wish I could have done more. See you tomorrow!

Previously: 1 Apr, 2 Apr, 3 Apr, 4 Apr

Chapter Three

The sky—her sliver of it, anyway—was leaden gray in the morning. Her calves ached, a bone-deep feeling that satisfied more than troubled her, but stretching took most of it away. There was a carafe of coffee awaiting her on the table, and propped against it an envelope of vellum. Both were black.

Shasi poured herself a mug, tail twitching behind her as she drank, and then she took the envelope and turned it over in her hands. The seal on the back was gold wax, stamped with a pair of scales. That didn’t surprise her, but she finished her coffee first.

Lieutenant Kilntreader, the letter inside read, Under most circumstances even results would not spare you the indignity of a court-martial, but Ul’dah has done enough harm to the name of the Scions. So says the Sultana, who has ever counted you a friend. If I were you, I would do nothing that would jeopardize that friendship, nor the friendship between Ul’dah and Ala Mhigo, even with our home restored to us.

Although we have declared a general moratorium on your briefings, you should be permitted to know this: the interim leadership council of Ala Mhigo has been selected. It is their intent to serve the will of the people—the same people Zenos yae Galvus kept beneath his heel. That he yet lives is not common knowledge, or there would be rioting in the streets. Learn what you can from him, but do not expect him to survive.

Included is a questionnaire on matters of critical import. Of especial interest are the “Populares” mentioned in your conversation with Urianger Augurelt. You may submit your report in writing. You are under no circumstances to break the terms of your sequester; the Echo is the only thing that keeps you on an even footing with him, but its unpredictable nature precludes your contact with anyone holding sensitive knowledge.

I trust you will remember what it is to serve.

For Coin and Country, General Aldynn

Shasi frowned, flipping through the pages of the questionnaire, committing them to memory. The room felt cool, and she shivered. Whatever relief was to be found in Raubahn’s letter, it was tempered by a sense of foreboding. But this was the bargain she’d struck, and now had to fulfill. She could delay it a while—another cup of coffee, and then she’d make ready for the day and go find a megalith board—but X’shasi had learned better than to think she could shirk her own destiny.

She could smell the petrichor from the menagerie even within the glass walls of the greenhouse, a few of the windows canted so that the air might circulate. She had dressed more formally, in a coat of slate blue and dark trousers—there had been, for a moment, the temptation to come in uniform, but that had seemed unwise. The game board was folded under one arm, tucked against her elbow.

The Viceroy’s head was already turned toward the entryway as she approached, and the lift of his chin betrayed his attentiveness, but when he rose he did not look directly at her. He loaned his robe an air of formality despite the simplicity of his garb: the same indigo yukata she had seen him in weeks before.

“Eikon-slayer,” he greeted her. “Viceroy,” she said in turn. “No,” he said, “you have taken that from me.” “What should I call you, then?” Shasi asked. “As my friend, you might call me Zenos. Come,” he said, “sit.”

The table was set below a chandelier of crystal. With no candles, it simply refracted what light it could snatch from the air around them; in the wanness of the morning it was little enough. He waited for her to sit first, and she found herself recalling he was royalty after all, and schooled in some manner of courtly graces.

“You found one,” he said as she set the megalith set between them. “I had to bribe a quartermaster,” she said with a sly little smile. “Somehow I doubt that.” She turned it around on the table, lifting the latch on one side to open the casing. “They’re all Ul’dahn, don’t you know.” He regarded her a moment, and as she laid the case open to reveal the pieces stowed away, he plucked one up, running a nail over the carved stone. “Aren’t you?” “Yes,” she said, sorting them by color. “And no. I was born in the mountains of Gyr Abania, but I barely remember it. Then it was southern Thanalan, but I don’t recall that either. Perhaps my memories are hazy enough that it all looks the same to me.”

She pushed the marble pieces across the table at him, flipping the case over to reveal the playing board of inlaid stone on the other side. “I thought you would play light,” he said with a tight little smile. “I thought you might like to represent the ivory standard,” she countered. His laughter filled the airy room then. “Perhaps I might. Well,” he said. “Your Princeps goes here, on his own color.” He set the piece in place with a decisive motion.

Soon, the board had been arranged, and the pieces and their movements explained.

“White plays first,” Zenos told her, those long fingers plucking up a piece to advance. “Just as well,” Shasi laughed. “Is that how you see it? Is acting not better than reacting?” Shasi could only shrug at that, tentatively moving one of her pieces in turn. “You know the game better than I. At least I have the benefit of observation.” He shook his head, that smile still tugging at his lips. “Eventually, observation and reaction can carry you no further, and you must round on your foe and act,” he said, removing a piece from the board. “But you know this already, eikon-slayer.” “I thought we were friends. Zenos.” “It is a compliment,” he said. “In its way.” “From the rest of the Empire I might believe that,” Shasi agreed, propping her chin on a loosely curled fist. “Not from me?” “I don’t think it impresses you overmuch,” she told him. “Don’t overextend,” he told her. “You’ve left your castrum vulnerable. When did you come to Ul’dah?” “As a girl,” Shasi said. “I was perhaps five summers old then.” “With your tribe?” “No,” she said. “Why do you want to know?” “Call it a personal curiosity,” Zenos told her, leaning in to move a piece across the board. “You must have a curiosity of your own,” he said. “Several,” she said, capturing one of his flanking pieces and plucking it from its place. “What do you know about the Populares?” “I said ‘of your own,’ he reminded her. “This one, I think, comes by way of your Scions.” “Perhaps,” she said, “but I have a personal interest. We know of the Empire by their exclaves—the castra that Gaius van Baelsar established after the Calamity, and the provinces you have conquered. I have only the smallest inkling of what the heart of it is. It snows there?” “Often,” he agreed. “The winters there are bitter. Exile was bitterer.” “Like Ishgard?” she wondered. “Coerthas was blanketed in snow after the Calamity, but Garlemald has always been swathed in white,” he said, moving his Princeps back to a more fortified position.

“I have to give them something,” Shasi said, “and I do want to know.” He sighed. “The Populares are exactly what their name implies,” he told her, watching as she picked off one of his supporting pieces. “They are populists. My great-uncle was their champion. Whether they survived him I couldn’t say. It seems unlikely any would reveal themselves to me.” “Because you are your father’s son?” “Am I?” he asked, fixing her with a tight lipped smile. He drummed his fingers against the board. “He never seemed to think so. Because I am a Legatus, X’shasi. A military man. So yes, in that, I am Varis’s son. I am Solus zos Galvus’s great-grandson. They concern themselves more with internal matters than conquest, so I am beyond the remit of their trust.” Shasi heard the regret in his tone, and told him so: “So perhaps Varis was not wrong to doubt your loyalties. What could they offer you?” “He was,” Zenos said, snatching back one of his pieces angrily. “It was van Baelsar’s journals that changed my mind, and I did not read those until I arrived here.” “What was in them?” Shasi wondered. “A great deal,” he said. “Half a decade’s observations of Eorzea. His collaboration with the last ‘Warrior of Light.’ Musings on the primals,” he said, nudging a piece into place. “And you.” That surprised her, and she looked up into his face. He was smiling at her, an indulgent sort of expression. He continued: “He admired you, in a way. I suppose he would have made you regent. It would have made things much simpler, don’t you think?”

“That’s not something the Populares could offer you,” she said, feeling her jaw tighten. “No, but they could have offered it to you,” he said. “An end to Garlean expansionism? A different approach to the problem of the eikons? Tell me that holds no appeal for you.” “I don’t think you’re so terribly opposed to your empire’s expansion,” she said mildly, pressing forward to take another piece. “No more than you are opposed to Lominsan expansionism,” he agreed. He must have seen how it stung her, for he lifted his fingers from the piece he had been toying with and made a less threatening move instead.

A less obviously threatening one, anyway.

“So now you know something to tell your masters.” “Later,” she said. “I did promise. And if it had been any less dire a portent before, I would not have gone then.” “This Elidibus occupies you greatly,” he noted, lifting one of his discarded Legatii to examine its form. “Are you afraid of him?” Shasi swallowed, glad his gaze was elsewhere. “Yes,” she said. “You never seemed to fear me.” “No,” she agreed. “I knew your reputation ere ever you came to Rhalgr’s Reach, as it seems you knew mine, but even then … I was not afraid.” “You knew me,” he said flatly. “My mentor had spoken of you, once or twice. As a thing of unholy terror. But … it was not so long before that I chanced to see myself through another’s eyes, and I was no less a horror than as had been described.” He chuckled, a low, rolling purr that seemed to spill over the table between them. “So you were not afraid because you thought you had my measure, as I was sure I had yours.” “No, I was not afraid because I wanted to take your measure,” she said, darting a piece forward with a small smile. “Why not take his?” Zenos wondered. “He’s an emissary,” she told him. “I could no sooner harm him than, say, a prisoner of war.” “A pity,” Zenos said, plucking up one of her pieces to set his down in the square. “I have you,” he told her. “No, you don’t,” she said, diverting a piece to her defense. He looked at her a long moment, a crooked smile upon his features. “So your hands are bound,” he said. “Little as I like it,” Shasi shrugged. His smile only broadened. He leaned in, took her castrum, and set a fingertip to the crown of her Emperor. “I have you,” he reiterated, and toppled the piece.

Shasi cursed. “Well, I suppose at least I have the comfort of knowing you weren’t holding back.” “Have I ever?” he asked. “Dine with me tonight. That seems an appropriate forfeit.” “I didn’t know we were dictating terms,” she said. “What if I’d rather write a letter to my masters, as you so disdainfully call them?” He pouted, an oddly boyish expression bereft of the anger she had expected. “How disappointing,” he said. She looked at him, reaching down to roll the Emperor beneath her fingers. “Do you know what your life is missing, Zenos?” she said. “Challenges, I should imagine,” he drawled. “Yes,” she agreed, sweeping the pieces from the board. “Just not the ones you mean.” “Oh?” “You don’t hear ‘no’ nearly enough,” she said, turning the board back over.

“X’shasi,” he said, reaching out to take hold of her wrist. His grasp was gentler than expected, his fingers rough with a swordsman’s calluses, but surprisingly warm. She looked down at his hand a long moment, where it lay against her skin. “Please,” he said. “Please what,” she prompted, her voice steadier than she might have feared. “Please come and dine with me this evening.” She waited, not looking up into his eyes. In the face of her indifference—feigned though it might have been—he capitulated. “Not because you owe it to me, or because I’ve won it from you. Come because it pleases you to do so.” She nodded once. “I will return for dinner,” she said. “For now I should see to other matters.” He let go of her wrist, but she lingered over the task of putting away the megalith pieces, rising only when she was sure her knees were steady.

[galvus]

prompt: temper • words: 1,045 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] to dilute, qualify, or soften by the addition or influence of something else

The true tone of her voice waylaid expectations built upon the bricks of longing.

Where Zenos anticipated the soft brush of silk, there was the ache of gravel under a heavy palm. Where he anticipated honey, there was instead the coarseness of sugar. Her words neither melted nor purred, but plummeted down into the very pit of his stomach and remained there, heavy as rocks.

Annette Eilhart was question after question.

When first they met, the Warrior of Light had not the words to speak to him. The fabric of her throat had likely been torn to bloody shreds on the approach, shouting orders that were stolen away by an ashen breeze. Her words had been weathered to nothing by the grief and determination that he saw so clearly upon her small, soft-cheeked face during their first confrontation.

The awe she felt upon coming to blows with him quieted her, Zenos thought initially.

In the interim, however, he found himself thinking. Reconsidering. Wondering.

For there was an element of wonder involved in turned memory upon memory over behind his eyes. His mind afforded him no small amount of musing in the quiet hours. Even as the rank and file droned on about their own desperate, fruitless campaigns, he reached for the bright and muddied half-paintings that his imagination offered up in supplication to his ridiculous fascination.

They were not daydreams. They were madness.

They were his.

When she reached out to him, he felt the pressure of her touch at the apple of his throat. When her mouth moved, he heard her voice curl between his ears like smoke. Sunlight flickered over her skin as if it poured down upon her through leaves no matter the absence of trees overhead. And the color in her eyes was ever-changing. Gold became rich brown became black.

She was a weak thing made of fire and wind, but behind the set of her brow was stone. She was a creature born of nature, just as he had been built with smoke and steel. The contrasts between them were intoxicating. They left him curious and frustrated and eager.

Boredom bordering upon indolence became a thing of the past as she wound herself around his mind, suffocating what remained of the aimless prince that had grown so stale in recent years.

Zenos felt himself change as a creature did upon shedding its skin. He felt himself froth, teeth bloodied by the gnashing.

He felt the Warrior of Light settle into his bones. What was once curiosity became marrow.

She even followed him into his dreams. She crept into whatever scant few hours he allowed himself. Even in the dark, she glowed like an ember and sent shadows three times her size sprawling against the walls in every direction. Anyone else might have been afraid of how they felt, of what they saw of her, but Zenos stared into the dark and the light and did not blink.

In her presence and in the pitch black of night, he smiled to himself. He listened to the voice he’d never heard, allowing the sound to curl around his wrists and ankles and throat like tender bindings. He swallowed the sound of her — not just the voice he’d given her, but the smooth rustle of her clothes and the crackle of a hungry fire. Every sweetly spoken threat she laid at his feet, he devoured without hesitation.

In the lonely night, Zenos consumed her, and his stomach burned for it.

Only when their paths crossed again did he realize just how incorrect he had been. In a moment, the Warrior of Light had turned him from a monster to a foolish boy with teeth too big for his mouth. The fury that incensed inside of him did not have an end.

But they were his daydreams. They were images and whispers of sound conjured up by a mind yearning for connection.

All around them, the sky wept onto Gyr Abanian sands. The air thickened in the heat and the rain, just as the ground beneath their feet threatened to sink. And they — alone, soaked through to their skin — stared across at each other. Their retinues had either fallen behind or been abandoned entirely, leaving one vulnerable and the other set loose.

Zenos did not know which of them he laid claim to.

She said his name just as thunder rolled overhead. In some cruel joke, the sound did not reach him, but the shape her mouth made around the word would cling to him like sopping cloth to skin.

Rage climbed up from his belly. It made a ladder of his spine; it pried open his mouth and freed itself in the twisted shape of a laugh. Even to his ears, the bitterness of it sounded foreign among the whisper-soft fall of rain, like a keening blade among a choir.

But what was he, if not a sharpened edge?

“I could not have asked for better stage dressing,” Zenos began. With the hand not poised on the hilt of the Swell, he cut through the swollen air with a gesture. “Unfortunately, your imminent second defeat will only be seen by the realm you seek to protect.”

Their onlookers were made of stone and sun-bleached grasses, whose rousing support would sound like the susurrus of wind, the strident cry of lightning, and the ponderous rattling of the thunder that followed. Sunlight bled down onto their makeshift arena, as if its golden fingers of light stretched to reach her even in the middle a storm.

His heart galloped in his chest. Its pace was nigh impossible to match.

When he looked at her, he saw that her eyes were golden. Her soft-bodied shadow cowered beneath the shape of his own. The rainfall made the fire in her spit and shrink until the light of it went out entirely.

“You look as if you have something pathetic to say.”

Her lips parted, then shut.

“Don’t do this,” Annette spoke, her voice barely escaping the tightened clench of her throat. “Please.”

The madness she inspired in him was tempered with a handful of words.

It left behind the grit of sugar on his lips, and it easily melted in the rain.

[galvus]

prompt: channel • words: 755 • era: endwalker • [ masterpost ] cause to pass along or through a specified route or medium.

Following their return from the Thirteenth, the party’s reserves were tattered and threadbare.

No one had the aether to spare, even in hopes of returning Zero to full lucidity. They were forced to stand idly by while she slept, her chest rising and falling as evenly as anything beneath the dark layers of her armor. Each of them carried a curiosity in themselves that was impossible to deny. Their questions were different, but the answers would sound the same in Zero’s haltingly quiet voice.

What will you give me?

How much does this question mean to you?

The constant transactions left Annette on edge, where Olivier and Y’shtola both seemed to understand and even sympathize with her manner of action.

Or, perhaps, it wasn’t Zero and her manner of discussion that had hauled her to a precipice to stand between relief and fury. Her frustration was just love, differently shaped, as Zenos’s crystal weighed down the pack she carried with her. It sat upon her lap, and through the worn leather, she could feel the heat emanating from the pale purple object.

Maybe she still held the aether Zero required inside of her. Maybe it was sequestered away somewhere deep.

For him, she could find it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Olivier said, his whisper interrupting her thoughts and giving her quite the start. “What you currently lack in aether, you make up for in absurdity, I swear.”

Annette’s back snapped into something pin-straight.

“I’m fine.”

He laughed at her. What a prick.

“I understand how you feel about him. Trust me, I do.” Olivier set a long-fingered hand lightly upon her shoulder before giving the sore muscle a much-needed squeeze. “But he did offer you up on a silver platter for a voidsent. Without your permission.”

How could she tell Olivier that she did not mind without coming off as some brainless, love drunk fool?

Not that she wasn’t one, she supposed.

“Desperate times,” was all Annette said, her broad shoulders bobbing in a noncommittal shrug.

He saved my life, she could not quite open her mouth to say. It didn’t matter if Olivier knew the truth; she wanted to say it again. Over and over, until her lips split. He saved all of Eorzea in that moment. And when I could not return the favor by saving him, rather than dying at the very edge of the universe, he reached out to Zero with one last request — and the offer of a colossal amount of aether as payment.

His actions were not mean-spirited. They were a spark, an impulse on quick feet. Death sought to claim him, and his only desire was to seem himself into her hands once again.

Now, he was no more than an amethyst glow inside of a crystal.

Trapped, but hers.

“If I give her what is left that I can spare in order to resuscitate her,” Annette continued, “then perhaps she will require less of my aether in payment.”

In Olivier’s eyes, she saw a shade of concern. But after years upon years of living alongside each other, he knew better than anyone that Annette was intimately aware  of her limits. There were few that remained, but those that did were explicitly documented for the safety of the world around them.

So, that concern he wore on his narrowed features found no voice.

“Please make sure I have something to eat once I’m finished.” She stood from the chair beside the bed Zero had been laid out on upon their arrival in Radz-at-Han, her pack still clutched in her hands. She had scarcely let it go more than a few times since receiving the crystal from Zero. “I will need your help in getting to the table.”

Olivier lingered at the bedside, but only for a moment.

Annette knew what she was doing. She had to after all they had done. In her eyes, the risk was worth taking.

Settling down onto the bed beside the prone voidsent, she took the woman’s hand only to find that her near-translucent skin was cool to the touch. It stood in stark opposition to her own, which was flushed from the heat.

“I will not give you everything,” Annette said, her voice a careful whisper that she knew Zero could not hear. “But I will give you enough.”

The deal had been struck by another…

… but she would channel her all into its repayment.

For him.

Gods, she would do anything for him.

[galvus]

prompt: attrition • words: 1,227 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] the action or process of gradually reducing the strength or effectiveness of someone or something through sustained attack or pressure.

She could not beat him, but she could withstand his attacks.

The concept of a stalemate left Zenos little more than a slavering beast, one chained by limits that had never before claimed him.

He stared across the rain-churned mud of their battlefield at the Warrior of Light, only barely visible through sheets of pouring rain. And in that rain — through that rain — he saw the powerful light of her grimoire. Flames untouched by the storm licked over the spine and the pages, pouring up her wrist without burning her or setting the fabric of her robes alight.

Yanxia smelled of fresh air and rainfall, of fields and paddies, of fresh fruits and flowers ripening, but he could barely fill his lungs between each attack. They ached. The sensation was as sweet as it was foreign and infuriating.

Zenos sucked in a sharp breath, lowering himself to the ground in an elegant arch that belied the searing heat that pushed through his muscles. That very breath tasted like iron — not from a wound or a bloodied nose, but from a bitten cheek, his molars grinding as he prepared to launch forward in Annette’s direction.

She did not smell like blood or rainfall, even with water soaking through the long locks of her hair. He knew what she smelled like.

The Warrior of Light smelled of ozone, of clove, of sweat, and every breath he took was full of her, as if his nose was buried into the hair just behind her ear.

Zenos surged forward with a growl. The Swell crackled with energy, arcs of wind energy slipping away from the katana’s massive blade in pale green ribbons. Rain never touched the metal, no matter how heavily the sky poured it forth. Instead, the droplets were flung away with the power of the sword.

The blade never touched Annette, either.

When the Garlean prince swung the Swell aided by the forward momentum of his body, the sharpened edge glanced off of a pillar of rock, thrown up from the muddied ground by the shadow of yet another primal.

Zenos threw his weight into another blow without missing a beat, cleaving the stone in two with a snarl that was drowned in a roll of thunder.

Rubble blasted into the distance, cracking through the thin glass windows of nearby houses and burying deep into the wooden slats of the same structures. What remained of the boulder collapsed into inert stones, with Annette nowhere to be found.

A rain-soaked lock of gold fell in front of one of Zenos’s eyes.

But nothing could conceal the almost delirious pleasure the man took from being outmaneuvered. He wore it plainly on his face — a joyful mask tied in place to cover the dour, unimpressed mien of someone with no equal. He did not have teeth sharpened into fangs, but his smile looked as if it could break skin without trying.

“Face me,” Zenos murmured. He turned, mud squishing around his greaves as he pivoted in the Warrior of Light’s direction. The rain slackened, droplets clinging to his brow and lashes and the long, curved tip of his nose. “Cast your cowardice aside.”

“Why do you consider this cowardice?”

His lips parted. Another droplet flung itself from his nose.

“Your ceaseless running is why I refer to this pathetic tactic of yours as cowardice.” Zenos lowered the Swell to his side. The wind picked up from the blade, sending ripples of mud away from its tip in waves. “Stand against me.”

Annette tilted her chin upward.

She was a stubborn woman. Time had shared with him that truth.

“Fine.”

Ah, she relents, came a whisper in Zenos’s mind. His heart thumped wildly in his ears, in his chest, in the wound he’d bitten into his cheek. This will be an execution. No more.

A newly discovered energy tore through him.

Zenos abandoned all previous efforts in favor of wielding fresh strength in the face of his greatest enemy. Adrenaline served as a constant companion, as familiar to him as his own reflection. He bit down; he bolted forward, sliding the Swell into the revolver that hung at his hip in favor of the most familiar of his blades. It bore the sigil of Garlemald rather than elemental magics.

The attachments he held to his homeland were the strings his father insisted on keeping tethered to his joints and nothing more.

But the blade’s weight was one he’d become well-acquainted with.

Plunging into the storm anew, Zenos’s hair flew back away from his face and the Garlean blade pierced through the air with a terrifying whistle. His prey did not move. She did not run or duck or plead with him to stop.

She stood. His blade was held at the perfect height to skewer her through the very center of her chest.

Tense moments before the tip found its home between her breasts, she fell into action.

With a clap of her grimoire and an upward thrust of her arms, Annette did not summon a barricade of stone, but a whirling colonnade of flame. The weeping storm sizzled and spat, sending up a thick fog of steam that blurred the details of her face…

… of her location.

Zenos dug his heels into the mud.

A glimmer of yellow-green shone from within the curtain of steam, and before Zenos could take a moment to decipher Annette’s next move, the summoned primal beat her slender wings and sent the pillar of flame flying forward. Garuda’s howl was not unlike the whistle of an inclement tornado. His ears buzzed from both the rattling cry and the sudden change of pressure all around them.

He leapt backwards, one foot sliding farther than the other and forcing him down onto his knee.

The fiery whirlwind changed directions like no true storm could, surging forward onto the very spot he’d stopped to catch his breath. He gathered his heavy weight onto legs that could still carry him, and he weaved around her attack as nimbly as he could manage, again and again and again until the fire was naught but a sinuous, sulfurous steam.

The weariness he’d beaten away with the excitement of a true fight returned with a vengeance. His shoulders sagged forward as he struggled to suck in a deep enough breath. Fury left his fingertips numb, his eyes bleary in the smoke.

She could not beat him, but she could withstand him.

And once she did, the elements could finally tear him to pieces, if he allowed it.

“Get this over with,” Zenos growled, tattered by the wind, tattered by the woman who stood wearily before him. “Kill me. Is that how this bout of dramatics is meant to end?”

On Annette’s face, she did not wear her anger. She did not wield guilt or pettiness like a blade. She simply stared at him, and her expression softened.

“You will not have the fight you so desperately want,” she said. He could see the tension that lingered in her broad shoulders, just as he could see the tired sag around her eyes. Their battle would not be glorious. It would be long and pathetic and stained with mud. Neither of them wanted that. “Not today.”

Zenos exhaled. Inhaled.

All he could smell was her, even on the rain, even yards apart.

[galvus]

prompt: cacophony ( free day ) • words: 1,038 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] a harsh discordant mixture of sounds.

Sometimes, a song could be a scream, no matter how triumphantly it was sung.

Voices rose around Annette in unison. Dozens of men and women, both known to her and unknown, lifted their voices to heights she had never heard before as richly dyed banners were unfurled over the walls of the Ala Mhigan castle.

Their exultant singing rattled between her ears like sun-dried bones — dull and splintered, where it should have been joyful.

Victorious.

Her lips parted to join them, but no sound escaped her mouth. She did not remember the words to their anthem. She did not remember how to find her own voice, even with her grimoire abandoned among the flowers and both hands free. Instead, she grasped for nothing and found nothing to hold.

Every thought that raced through her mind unbidden chased her back to that spot. Fleet-footed heartache tugged her by her pale and trembling hands, carving a path through the trampled flowers and over the broken tiles. It pulled and pulled until she felt as if her wrists would snap, and then, it pulled again.

In her mind, she stumbled and collapsed onto her knees.

The menagerie’s tiles were broken, yes, and they were soaked through with blood. Among the flowers in white and pink and red were threads of gold, windblown and knotted and still painfully warm. Beneath the spill of yellow hair, Zenos wore a strange, serene expression. The quiet stillness of death did not suit him. Where was his strident, bitter laugh? Where were the murmurs he’d pressed to her skin? Where were his sighs?

As if he sought to answer her questions, Zenos’s lips parted, even bloodied as they were. And in a hoarse croak, his voice joined in with the singing.

“We blessed few, born from blood…” A reddened foam rose at the corners of his mouth. “… with tired hands do toil.”

Her mournful thoughts went black, snapping her back into herself as she felt the light brush of fingertips between her quivering shoulder blades. Olivier’s touch was even gentler than what she was accustomed to. It was as if he worried that too much pressure would free her grief-soaked body into the wind, as if she was little more than a trembling pillar of ash.

She was the Warrior of Light. She was one of Hydaelyn’s chosen few. She was a summoner of gods, more powerful than anyone who had ever thought to cross her. No one had been able to lay her low. She could not be burned by the death of an enemy.

Ifrit’s fires had not been enough to blacken her bones; love could not so much as leave her blistered.

Do not cry for him, Annette begged of herself. Gloved hands curled at her sides, the squeak of leather lost among the chorus. Grieve alone, for that is what you are now.

Beside her, Lyse’s voice rose above all others. The young woman held her hands cupped to her mouth, eager to have her song carried up into the cloudless blue sky. The lyrics were muddied among the rest of them, each word accompanied by hundreds of others. Down in the crowded streets below, the citizenry of Ala Mhigo joined in.

The sound was like nails struck across flint. Annette’s throat tightened, though her lips moved in a pathetic facsimile of The Measure of His Reach.

Triumph could be a solitary thing.

No one turned to look at her, to see if she was singing, to encourage her to let her voice fly. They would recall her in their memories as a dark-haired specter, cloaked in sunlight, endlessly proud of her accomplishments and the helpful hand she’d given to the Ala Mhigan people. They would tell tale of how she sang their anthem with such an aching clarity, how she stood before everyone and led them in the first steps of their Independence.

They would not remember the hollow shine of her eyes. They would not remember the sharp lines of her shoulders or the way she clung to Olivier when he curled his arm around her.

In their eyes, overcome with relief that they were able to take the Garleans to task, that they were able to free them from their yoke, that they were able to bring a sudden end to the Empire’s atrocities.

In Olivier’s eyes, overcome with pain due to the tragic projection of her attachment to Zenos yae Galvus.

In her own eyes, overcome.

Stupid girl.

Stupid and hopeful, torn between duty and a thirst for more. But to her, more turned out to be a mouthful of iron and tears that burned brighter than Ifrit’s flames. More was the torrent that sent her crumbling, letting her loose upon the wind. More unfettered her in the worst way.

“Stop,” she whispered against the sun-warmed fabric of Olivier’s robes. Whether she meant for herself to stop or for those around her to cease their trumpeting, she hardly knew. The word slipped out like a curse with a curled hip as she wound her fingers deep within the cloth beneath her palms. There was nowhere to bury herself, nowhere to escape the sound of their song. “Stop, stop, stop. Gods, please.”

In response, the cacophony of voices that stretched out around her narrowed to a point, their words collecting in uncanny unison: “Though storms of blood approach ye… Hells open, Heavens weep!”

Annette’s voice broke against the curve of Olivier’s shoulder, shattering into so many splinters.

“Why?” she pleaded, not to Olivier, not to herself. “Why did you…?”

Zenos was dead with his throat cleft by the impossibly sharp edge of Ame-no-Habakiri. His blood cooled upon petals that were only half as bright, forcing them to bow beneath its weight. There would never be another duel. There would never be another secret meeting cast in the blue before sunrise. There would never be another hurried, clumsy kiss or a stray hand around her throat.

In the end, the things that thrilled her beyond reason had not been enough to keep him.

The anthem ended, and as those around her caught their breath, Annette pierced the relieved silence with a wail.

[galvus]

prompt: yawn • words: 1,776 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] involuntarily open one's mouth wide and inhale deeply due to tiredness or boredom. [ continued from yesterday’s prompt of tepid. ]

Once Annette was content with the state of her wounds and the grime that clung to her skin, she emerged from the spring without sparing a thought towards Zenos and the blue eyes that followed the path from her legs to the top of her head as she passed him.

Her toes curled against the damp stone bordering the pool.

The heat of the water had done wonders for her stiff muscles and the aches that came from riding such long distances, but now, with her muscles soft and loose, she felt the true bite of pain, forcing her to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering into the quiet. The last thing she wanted him to hear was her whining. His interest would wane in an instant.

That, she did not want.

“I have the means to make a meal,” Annette said simply, though she did not glance over her shoulder or turn to look back at him. They both spent so much time pretending not to look, pretending not to care, pretending that everything they felt for each other sat upon a sharpened edge. “You should eat.”

Still soaked through to the skin from the spring, she pulled on her boots without a care for donning socks with damp feet. What remained of her clothes would wait for the morning, once she had time to wash them in the pool and dry them on the stone. Until then, her sopping wet shift would do. At least the air around the hot spring was not nearly cold enough to sicken her.

Once she settled, Annette whistled for her chocobo to return to her. His feathers were damp, and she could tell that there was nothing he wanted more than a handful of greens and a good night’s sleep.

“Well, I can give you one of those,” she murmured, scratching into the plumage around his beak. “We’ll be back with the others soon.”

Rummaging around inside of the near-empty saddlebags her chocobo carried with him, she found little in the way of workable ingredients, truth be told. There was a little of this, a little of that — two boiled eggs, cucumber, peppers, and a satchel of fragrant herbed salt Olivier slipped into her things the last time they were in Rhalgr’s Reach.

Nothing she could make would be enough to sate herself, much less a man half as massive as Zenos. Not without hunting down some wild thing to butcher, and that was out of the question.

It was then that she chanced one look back at the prince, but only once she was able to masquerade it as a frustrated sigh with the state of her bags.

He still had his back to her, both arms stretched out over the black stone that created the shape of the hot spring. Locks of yellow hair spilled out over the shiny surface and into the water, trailing diffused whorls of gold over the surface of the pool.

With each movement, she could see the fabric of his shirt pull tauter and tauter over the muscles of his shoulders and back.

Blood flared in her already splotchy cheeks.

Annette removed the items from her pack along with a scarf she wore to cover her mouth while traveling through hot, sandy climes. Nothing about the meal she set out on the warm stone was impressive, but there was little she could do to change that, not when they had both acted on impulse and impulse alone… days prior. Any food she carried with her had either been consumed or spoiled along the way.

The tense silence continued well into their shared meal.

Zenos emerged from the spring in the same manner as she had — cotton clinging to every rise and fall of his body, dripping down his long legs to the craggy stone below his feet. He stared down at the fare laid out before him for a long, unimpressed moment before he sat across from the Warrior of Light and the dull knife she carried for cutting vegetables and vegetables alone.

He picked up a coin of cucumber and popped it into his mouth with a crisp crunch. He did not bother with sprinkling any of the salt on top, not then or when his attention shifted to the red pepper rings.

Counting out four quarters of egg, Zenos left the other half for her before consuming them all in only a few bites.

“Where do you intend to sleep?”

Annette licked over the pad of her thumb, savoring what remained of the salt on her skin. “… Here?”

“How ridiculous,” was his only response at first, a low rumble of amusement that sought desperately to humble her. It did not work, and when she did not hurl a response at him, Zenos sat up a hair straighter. “Curled up on the ground like a common dog?”

Something wretched and eager pulsed beneath her skin. She shifted her position, folding her legs closer to herself as she bit into a medallion of cucumber.

“It would not be my first time sleeping on the floor.”

“What a faithful companion you must make, then,” Zenos murmured.

Annette swallowed at the knot in her throat.

“Shut up.” Defensive, feeling flushed and uncomfortable, she gestured towards the snow that covered the world around them in white. Anything to divert the conversation. “Where else would you have me sleep? Anywhere but here, and I would never last to see the dawn.”

His response was simple.

Quietly spoken.

“Sleep with me.”

It took everything Annette had to not choke on her own astonishment. Never before had she even considered what those words would sound like coming out of Zenos’s mouth. More than that, it had not been posed as a question. His confidence was inspiring… and precisely what she expected from him, what her imagination had often left her with when the night was at its darkest.

Smoothing over the drying fabric of her shift, Annette gave her head a shake. “That’s not necessary. I will be fine here.”

But the prince did not take that as an answer. Not necessary meant nothing to him when he spoke a command rather than an offer. He wanted her in fighting shape, but the bruise on her side would leave her impossibly stiff in the morning if she was not careful.

He knew that, and so did she.

Tucking her chin down, she looked pointedly away from his face. “Fine.”

That was all the confirmation he needed in order to uproot himself. What she hadn’t expected was to watch him trudge out into the snow without a thought towards shoes or any additional clothing. He disappeared for one minute, then two, then —

Zenos’s magitek vessel shook the ground as it landed mere feet away from the hot spring. The tremor that bled through the stone disturbed her chocobo from its rest, forcing a terrified kweh! from the creature.

Annette was no less surprised, though she hid it well enough.

The first thought that occurred to her upon getting a better look at the machine was that there would not be proper room for the both of them. Zenos was immense, and she was not a petite woman. Her second thought rendered her speechless.

Bodies tangled together to find comfort, contorted but at ease. He would be inches away from her, near enough for her to see his lashes against his cheeks and feel the  brush of his hair on her fingertips.

Then came the third thought.

This would be the perfect opportunity to kill him.

Her blood pulsed, heart beating hard and heavy in her ears, and as she stood from the stone, she slipped the knife she used to cut her vegetables under the sleeve of her shift. Olivier did not truly understand her obsession with Zenos, but he would not hate her if she couldn’t manage to slay the Garlean prince in his sleep. She carried that knowledge with her as she climbed up into the door Zenos had opened for her on the side of the vessel.

In case she failed. In case she didn’t.

The soles of Annette’s bare feet stung as she climbed up the metal stairs leading into the cockpit of the machine, her mind racing to catch up with the quickened flutter of her heart.

Inside of the vessel, there was room enough for two regulation-sized garleans from the look of things. Zenos had already made the space comfortable for himself, stretched out as he was at an angle over the leather seats in only his loose shirt and a pair of soft trousers that clung around the widest parts of his thighs. A fur-lined blanket spilled over the width of the seat, pooling over the cold metal floors in a peak example of creature comforts.

Even someone like Zenos slept better on something soft.

“Here.” Weariness already clung to the lowest rumblings of his voice. He lifted one of his arms to make space for her on the seat at his side, and when she sat down, her body rigid with caution, a quiet frustrated sound left his throat. “Not unlike sleeping with your throat in a lion’s jaws, hm?”

Zenos shifted his position again, lifting his hips and twisting to give Annette more room beside him.

“I will not hurt you.”

She buried a yawn into the crook of her arm the moment she let herself rest against the worn leather seat and its equally worn armrest. Her body was no longer tired. When she shut her eyes, she knew that she would die a little death.

Her fingers curled around the armrest to keep her from pressing every inch of her back to Zenos’s body.

She did not want to luxuriate in the warmth of his body, to feel protected by the strength that followed every sinuous line of his form. Instead, she focused upon the cool metal of the knife against her forearm and the victory of what she could achieve in the night.

Zenos’s death would mean a momentary freedom for so many. His death would cause tumult in Garlemald.

His death would be revenge as much as justice as much as relief.

But she was tired in a way she had never been tired. Every muscle in her body cried out, desperate to relax, all while his whispered vow to keep her safe — even from himself — echoed in her chest.

The knife slipped from her sleeve as Annette felt herself go limp, her cheek pressed to Zenos’s warm forearm.

It was not there when she woke.

[galvus]

prompt: tepid • words: 1,299 • era: stormblood • [ masterpost ] only slightly warm; lukewarm.

Only once had Annette ever seen Zenos flinch.

Their chase began in Gyr Abania, on a particularly quiet night cut between those marred with tragedy, but it did not end there on the sun-bleached rocks or bitterly hot sand. He wanted a fight, and Annette — despite her better judgment — wanted time enough with him to explore the strange feeling in her chest.

So, they tore over Baelsar’s Wall and made haste over the width of the Shroud, losing hours together as the role of predator and the role of prey exchanged hands in unfamiliar territory.

Zenos was lost among trees, and Annette reminded him of that.

Infuriatingly often.

The duels that ensued were quick, breathless things that left the Twelveswood trembling in their wake. Leaves, charred and fallen. Ruins, split in two and crumbled beyond reason. Each time they clashed, the Garlean prince emerged even more determined than before, his windtorn locks dull with sweat and as caked with blood as the bandages he wore haphazardly wrapped around his limbs.

She had not fared any better. Her chocobo carried her well enough, but their frequent battles had left her bruised along one side of her body, making balance almost impossible to achieve. One good cut with the Swell — that was all it took to render her close to useless. One push that sent her flying into the trunk of a tree.

But paired with his own burns and bruises, the thump had only evened to playing field.

They did not slow down until Coerthas, until humid forest became snow-covered fields, until dull aches became genuine pains.

While Zenos’s feelings towards his injuries did not appear to be changed with time, the same could not be said for the Warrior of Light, whose initial fleet-footed escape had become a dogged trudge away from the man who dreamed of stopping her.

Not that either of them had slept in days. Or taken time to eat a proper meal, either.

A truce would have to be called. She knew that he had no interest in killing her, not when she was disarmed and at her absolute weakest.

Tossing her grimoire down onto the snow, Annette slipped from her chocobo’s saddle and raised her palms to him. The gesture wasn’t quite a white flag, but it was a plea for a moment’s break. The necessity of rest was obvious in the way she sank as she took a step closer to him, her knees threatening to buckle under her weight.

“An hour,” Zenos said, his callused hand curling at the handle of his katana. Anyone else might have seen such a thing and counted him as a threat, but she knew better. He held his blade differently when he planned to attack. “Then, we shall begin anew.”

An hour? The thought was enough to make her laugh.

“What total nonsense,” Annette spat back. “Give me the night. We can begin again at dawn.”

The prince tilted his head back, peering up at the sunset that colored the sky. Dawn would be in no less than ten hours. She spied displeasure pulled taut at the corners of his mouth.

“Two.”

Frustration bubbled in her guts. She could not fight him again without a proper meal, without a proper sleep, without a bath and time to tend to her wounds. He wasn’t the sort of man to hunt until his quarry was crawling on bloodied feet and impossible to fight back. That was not what he looked at her and yearned for — a lesson he had taught her early on.

“Just kill me now, then!” Annette shouted, her cry taking shape on the freezing wind. “Because I will not be any better off in two hours!”

Zenos paused.

The tattered hem of the cloth that trailed behind him blackened on the melting snow. If they lingered in place for too long, they would surely freeze; an unavoidable chill seeped into the both of them as they stood there in the wind, half-dead and exhausted, unwilling to budge on either side.

Until… he did.

“Dawn, then,” Zenos muttered, and then, he was gone.

Only then was Annette able to breathe. She limped to her chocobo’s side, rubbing a gentle hand over his pale blue feathers as she whispered to him an apology. It took feeding him the last remaining faerie apple in her pack for him to carry her again, but when he did, he carried her to precisely where she needed to be.

Tucked into the side of a crevasse, surrounded with sheer, black rock that was untouched by snow, was a spring.

She had been there before, with Olivier and Alphinaud, Estinien and Ysayle. Nothing had changed in the year that followed. Steam still billowed up from the water, filling the crisp air with a much-needed dew as well as heat. The surface was smooth rather than boiling, but Annette could tell by the massive amounts of fog that it was still as close as it had been back then.

She didn’t care.

Annette climbed down from her chocobo’s back with care, thinking of her weary knees and the likely slippery state of the stone.

Trembling with effort as she shed the coat and tunic she wore over a sweat-stained cotton slip, her thoughts pivoted and spun. Concern for the morning hours off, for the night, for the prince. Fury at having been so handily dispatched, at having run with such eager feet.

Sitting down upon the warmed stone, she unlaced her boots and tugged her woolen socks free from her boots. She set one of them down at her side, but the other…

She also felt guilt at enjoying herself, at wanting more.

Annette gave in to her own frustration and hurled the other boot blindly into the snow, only to watch as it landed at Zenos yae Galvus’s feet. He bent and picked it up without a word.

His armor had been discarded in favor of a simple, white shirt that hung unburdened by trousers around his shapely upper thighs. The look that he gave her as he passed was pity, unimpressed. But, still, she could see the dried blood clinging to his long locks of hair. Beneath his shirt, she could see the telltale sign of bandages wrapped around his arms, around his midsection.

“Be careful,” she called out after him. “The water is quite hot.”

Zenos stopped, turning. But where she expected a snide remark, there was only weariness that was easily cast aside as he stepped right down past the surface of the steaming hot spring.

In an instant, Zenos tugged his reddened foot back out of the water with a hiss, his broad shoulders tucked up around his neck.

The told you so died on her tongue in favor of a different approach.

Clad only in a cotton shift, Annette walked past him with as much confidence as she could muster after days of breakneck travel, only to submerge one foot into the spring, then the other. She stepped farther in, allowing the water to rise around her knees before slipping down to sit at the bottom of the pool.

Comfort came as if brought forth on wings, leaving Annette with only a relieved groan on her lips. She tipped her head back, resting the crown of it against the rocks.

“Used to sitting in water about as warm as spit, are you?”

She did not have to open her eyes to recognize the look on Zenos’s face, not when she could practically hear his molars creaking.

They would fight again in the morning once they had given themselves time to rest, but for a moment, there was peace between them… as long as you did not count sarcasm as an attack.

[rivensbane]

ZENOS YAE GALVUS IN THE FINAL FANTASY XIV: ENDWALKER TRAILER

[galvus]

            In Crimson It Began.