#if alphinaud wasn't thinking about proposing before he sure is now....

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Old Traditions

AO3 Version

Relationship: WoL(Illya Skawi)/Alphinaud

Rating: PG

Summary: Alphinaud is spending a few days in Ishgard, and learns about an old, peculiar tradition he can’t help but be curious about.

Note: This is a (super late) prize for @whitherliliesbloom for winning the Wondrous Tails 2019 event--at first this was supposed to be something simple and sweet for her character Illya and Alphinaud (whom are adorable together), but one thing lead to another and now I have another fic to add to the ‘lockets as engagement rings in Ishgard’ headcanon because apparently I love it too much.

-

When Alphinaud makes the purchase, it was not fueled by plan nor far-reaching intentions. It had simply been something in just the right spot in the window to catch his eye, and furthermore something beautiful enough he thought it better suited someone else--someone whom he cared about deeply. 

Suffice to say even as he held the locket in his hand and reached out to show the shopkeeper the item he had intended to purchase, it was with no greater meaning than that of a rather fanciful gift spurred only by impulse. He could already hear Tataru’s sharp chastising the moment she’d find out and realize how much he so flippantly spent on it--but it was of his own earnings, and the recipient of his own choosing.

It was beautiful, all things considered. A locket of silver, decorated with various details of twisting vines and flowers blooming around a setting of amethyst or somesuch gemstone. It glittered so vibrantly even in the dull sunlight of an overcast day in Ishgard that Alphinaud could hardly take his eyes off of it once discovered.

Though it did not compare to the beauty he oft beheld within her eyes, Alphinaud could think of only one woman who deserved such a gift. Neither could be bring himself to think about how it pleased him to think of her wearing it--something of his own effort upon her, a symbol of affection and dedication to bringing a smile onto her lips like how she brought a smile to so many others around her.

Perhaps it was from this silly, romantic notion that had left an impression upon the elder, wizened elezen woman who sold it to him. As gil exchanged hands and Alphinaud had the locket safely tucked into a small, plain-looking wooden case, he couldn’t help but notice the look in her eyes.

“Is there something the matter?” He found himself asking. “Did I not give you enough gil?”

“Oh no, there’s nothing wrong,” she said, waving a hand as if to fend off his mounting worry. “It’s not everyday a young man like yourself has his heart so set upon someone he loves.”

Between the words themselves and the tone suffused within them, Alphinaud cannot help the heat that blooms over his cheeks. He clears his throat and allows his eyes to fall downwards.

"I-...I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean."

He doesn't know quite why he feels embarrassed when he hardly knew the woman, nor would likely never see her again once the purchase was complete--he's not set to remain in Ishgard for more than a few suns before meeting with several Scions back in the heart of Eorzea proper. Still, Alphinaud found his gaze falling towards the trinket in his hand, heat blooming like sweet spring lilies over his cheeks.

“You are not from Ishgard then?” the shopkeep asks.

Alphinaud shakes his head, and the warm look falls ever so slightly from the woman’s expression.

“Ah, well then pay my silliness little thought. ‘Tis only something of a tradition, though most young folk nowadays don’t seem to pay it much mind.”

She hums to herself and turns away, as if to return to what she’d been doing mere minutes before.

For as easy as it could have been to simply let the topic be and scurry away with his purchase, Alphinaud's sense of curiosity vastly outweighed his sense of embarrassment. He purses his lips and clears his throat in a vaguely subtle attempt to show he was still standing there, and only then does the woman turn back around to look at him with one arched brow.

"I...don't mean to intrude further upon your time," Alphinaud says lightly. "but I find myself curious to this old tradition, if you would care to explain it."

The woman stares at him for a few moments, with the silence only broken by distant sounds of construction from direction of the firmament. Sounds of rebuilding and hope only made possible by the efforts of the same woman Alphinaud was purchasing the locket for. 

Through the years of life experience seemingly etched in lines and wrinkles upon her face, a glimmer of warm amusement filled her eyes. She smiles, then steps closer to the counter, so that she could perch her elbows upon the old wood and her chin upon the heel of a palm.

"When I was but a girl, many years ago mind you, it was commonplace that a suitor would gift a locket to one they were courting."

"Courting?"

"Yes," the woman nods. "Once it was a gift of engagement. Far before my time, the lockets would be made by hand of the suitor or their family--but you can imagine for many it was easier to simply commission or purchase from a craftsman."

Alphinaud's brow furrows. He understands the words perfectly well, but it takes him a few moments for the context to sink in--why she had eyed him with such gentle amusement as he purchased the locket in the first place. He looks down to the small box in his hand, and then back up, realization at last dawning on him.

For some reason, his cheeks are burning ever hotter than before, and words that should have seemed obvious in answer yet tumble awkwardly over his lips.

"Ah, I see. An engagement of...marriage, I presume?"

The woman, whether amused by Alphinaud’s embarrassment or simply happy in his genuine interest, smiles just a little brighter.

"Of course. When my mother ran this very shop, there were young men of even the highest houses who would spend hours looking at her work to find the most suiting locket for their soon-to-be betrothed. And even before that, both my mother and grandmother were oft commissioned for their craft--such beautiful works of art made for one couple’s promise of lifelong union.” 

Wizened by years of life, the woman’s soft eyes fall upon the collection of jewelry across the counter before her. And then, after a moment more, a sigh slowly escapes her lips. Alphinaud watches as soft disappointment fills where warmth had been in her eyes.

"...There is meaning to each of these pieces, you know."

As she gazes over the work before her, Alphinaud can’t help himself but to speak, as if the words take life into themselves and fall from his tongue all the same.

“And what of this one?”

Though the motion is a little jarring and it takes him several moments to do so, he opens the small box in his hand for emphasis, to reveal the glittering locket within. As he does, the shopkeeper looks at him, and the smile returns—perhaps with just a touch more mischief than before, though the young Scion is hardly able to keep his mind away from how the sentiment connects to his own feelings for the warrior he is set to gift the locket to mere days from now.

“You certainly have an eye for gems. The amethyst, set in the center and surrounded by a wreath of flowers-“ she reaches out and gently taps a gloved finger to the center of the locket. “-the one you love must be the sort who oft takes on the suffering of others as her own burden. She forges a path of goodwill, and the flowers that flourish within that path are the lives she touches with her kindness.”

As she leans back, Alphinaud can’t help but feel a little awed.

“...and how can you say all that if you don’t know her?”

Within the woman’s eyes, a glimmer of something soft. In her lips, a wry smile, one that makes her look many years before, gazing down at a young man seeking to promise his heart to the person he cares most for.

“I don’t have to know them, young sir,” she says simply. “You were the one who picked that locket from all the rest of them. And given your surprise at its meaning, it would seem your heart chose perfectly.”

Even in the sharp, cold wind of Ishgard, Alphinaud feels a genuine warmth deep within his chest, one that grows with the reminder that he would be seeing that person soon, the one for whom his heart sang. The one who truly deserved the work of art clutched within his palm, and the deep tradition behind it.

“I thank you for taking the time to explain it to me; I will properly treasure this locket, and I know the one I’m to give it to will love it all the same.”

A gentle laugh escapes from the old woman, and she reaches a hand up to gently cover her mouth.

“And might you indulge me with the name of this one so dear to you?”

Alphinaud opens his mouth to speak, but at first not a single word comes out. 

So many ways to describe her; the warrior of light, the hope of Eorzea, the savior of Ishgard, Ala Mhigo and Doma alike. The one whose smile makes everyone feel at ease, the one who makes everyone feel safe—the one who, whenever she laughs, makes Alphinaud’s heart race and his thoughts hard to place.

“Her name,” he finally says, closing the locket box and gently tucking it into a pocket, and meeting the woman’s eyes. “-is Illya.”