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elfyourmother · 2 years

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i like to think about gisele and ruvedyah fibers and adding saree and kurta and salwar kameez and suchlike to the atelier's line

She was like a kid in a candy store the first time she went to Ruvedyah, Estinien had to physically drag her out of the place.

...this sparked a lot of discussion about Gisele’s reaction to Radz-at-Han vs. her feelings about Sharlayan so I’m cutting it

it’s strange how things turn out...the thing I was most intrigued by going into the expansion wrt Gisele was her finally getting to go to Sharlayan after hearing about it for years, and seeing how this ex-Circle Mage prodigy with an insatiable hunger for learning would react, and she really did fall in love with the Studium etc. But Sharlayan also ended up dredging up a lot of feelings of grief and bitterness for her, and I think we were both surprised by it tbh.

I know I’ve talked a bit before about how Gisele’s views of her time in the Circle have evolved since coming to Eorzea. Queen/Warden-Commander/Inquisitor Gisele was very much a moderate with Aequitarian views wrt to the Circle, in large part because she convinced herself that it was a far better life than she would have had as an elf in the Denerim alienage, and it was worth the lack of freedom and petty indignities. She glossed over much of the latter, even

but then she gets to Eorzea and even before she got her memories back, she was taken aback by how normal magic was treated, in ways she couldn’t quite explain. it made sense once she did get her memories back ofc, and then she just became angry.

her relationship with the Archons, despite being close, was always inevitably colored by the fact that she was born and raised in a society that hated and feared magic and put mages into cages, that treated the lineage that was so revered among the Dalish that it caused her father’s Keeper to deem her mother unworthy of him as the alienage-born child of a plaything for shems as proof of her inherent wickedness.

And like a lot of adult survivors of child abuse, Gisele would talk about things that happened in the Circle, things that were normalized--the phylacteries, the Harrowing, being unable to marry or have children, even smaller things like her never being taught to swim because none of the apprentices were, for fear they’d attempt escape--and when she would say these things to the Sharlayan Scions, they would express shock and horror and tell her, rightfully and unequivocally, that none of these indignities and abuses she just accepted as normal were actually normal. And there was no small amount of pity sometimes, which is something Gisele loathes. Which is why it has always been easier for her to talk about her past with the likes of Haurchefant, Ysayle, Estinien, etc. The all consuming power of a religious institution’s oppressive (and false) doctrines and prejudices to damage a child’s life is something her Ishgardians relate to better than pretty much anyone. The Archons, for better or worse, could never really understand Gisele’s pain because of their relative privilege

Urianger in particular constantly lamented the fact that Gisele was born in such a place rather than Sharlayan, where her gifts would have been nurtured and celebrated rather than feared, where she could have been treated as a budding scholar rather than a ticking time bomb that had to be tightly controlled for her own good, and the good of society. And while he was right, and his heart was in the right place when he became upset over it, sometimes it only served to remind Gisele of what she never had.

I think actually going to Sharlayan was when she finally realized that what was done to her was abuse, despite it being “better” at the time than the alternative, in the sense that her material needs were met in the Circle in a way they never were in the poverty she experienced in the alienage. But the lesser of two evils was still very much evil. It didn’t take away the joy or the family she found, the good things. But finding a home there and making the best of a bad situation, and thriving there, didn’t make it any less wrong or abusive. And seeing with her own two eyes that mages didn’t have to live like they did in Andrastian lands really shook Gisele to the core. It’s one thing to see this in Eorzea, to be celebrated as Warrior of Light for her magic, but to set foot in a place that by its every existence puts the lie to everything the Andrastian Chantry ever preached about mages being unable to be trusted with freedom or temporal power, because they would inevitably become tyrannical despots like the Tevinter...she loved it, obviously, but at the same time it made Gisele feel grief for her old life and her lost childhood all over again. Why did she have to be born in Ferelden? Why not a place like Sharlayan? Why the gilded cage of Kinloch Hold and not the Studium, where she would be free to study and learn and grow? How much stronger would she have been had her talents really been permitted to flourish? To think, she grew up dreaming of First Enchanter--because that was the best an elven mage could have aspired to in life. After the heights she’s reached in Eorzea, Gisele could ugly cry laughing over so small a dream (and has, a lot).

Garlemald was also fraught for her, and even a little triggering--intellectually she knows that Garleans hate magic because they fear and resent it, because it was a tool used to oppress them in the distant past and their society has developed a culture of victimhood around their inability to use it, but when she proffers a healing hand and is cursed, all she’s reminded of are the people in Ferelden who called her an Abomination for Spirit Healing.

All of this is to say that Radz-at-Han has none of that complication for her. It’s a colorful, magnificently beautiful place where the people are warm and inviting and accept her as she is. It reminds her of the very best parts of Ul’dah, a place she is still fond of despite the pain she experienced there. As much as she loves Rudveyah Fibers she could also spend forever in the alchemy workshop, or in the markets shopping for spices. It’s the spiritual home of the Kriegstanz too, and that means a lot to her (I have a lot of gripes about how it was totally ignored in MSQ given the extremely relevant lore behind it that I want to address in my fic).

And there’s Vrtra, whom she quite unexpectedly came to love--he actually ends up getting a new homunculus made in her verse, an adult one. Varshahn served his purpose when he hid in the shadows and he didn’t want his people to fear him, thus he walked among them all unawares in the form of a child, a form that was deliberately nonthreatening. But now that Vrtra is known to them, he wanted an adult form to walk among them as a peer, if not an equal (rather impossible for a dragon of the First Brood). The fact that he asked his alchemists to make it exceedingly handsome and well-pleasing to certain Elezen of his acquaintance was totally coincidental, ofc.

So after all is said and done, and the Scions go back to the shadows, Gisele goes to Radz-at-Han with Estinien, Ysayle, and Haurchefant. She claims it’s a working vacation, making contacts and deals for the atelier, but she spends time just...being, without any reason at all. She spends hours talking shop with Nidhana and the other Hannish alchemists, devouring all the knowledge she can, sharing her own with them. She spends time among the dance academies practicing and learning and teaching. She learns songs and stories and shares the ones she knows (she may not be a Bard by Job but she’s one by spirit).

But really, she spends time with the people she loves. Aymeric meets them there, ostensibly to establish diplomatic relations between Ishgard and Thavnair, but it’s an excuse to have R&R with his loved ones. Stephanivien probably stops by between trips to and from Garlemald, for extended visits. And I like to think Estinien and Ysayle get married there, at Vrtra’s insistence. Maybe he even performs the ceremony, and people toss flowers from the balconies. And all of it is very warm and healing for Gisele. She will definitely visit Sharlayan from time to time, and her ambivalence toward it fades over time, enough that she can truly love and appreciate it. But Radz-at-Han ends up becoming her home away from home (which is always Ishgard).

#sorry this...sparked a lot of feelings #gisele surana #6.0 spoilers #kaninchenzero #ask bisho

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autumnslance · 3 years

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Reverse unpopular opinion: G'raha Tia/Crystal Exarch

Initially G’raha reminded me of a lot of my young grad school colleagues; a mix of young/mid twenties brattiness, actual intelligence, and a love of fun. I also really loved how he and Unei and Doga, having no prior history or knowledge of Nero, were really the first people to treat that stringbean like a person worthy of respect for his own knowledge, and as a friend and valued teammate. Nero’s facial expressions in those scenes are really interesting if you go back and watch. G’raha also recognized the WoL’s growing prowess and fame back then, knowing when he woke in some distant future, they would be a legend.

And he was right, but gods, the future he woke in. I still wonder how much was he manipulated by the 8th Umbral Ironworks, consciously or not; what of the ruined world did they allow him to see to go along with their plan? And all he had to cling to were the stories of those he had left behind, 200 years in the past--including the colleague he had known would become a hero.

With the Ironworks’ help, he did the impossible, though landed earlier than intended. A boon, in some ways, to prepare for the battles to come. Then came refugees seeking shelter flocking to the Tower, a “beacon of hope” on the Source, now on the First the same. How could he turn them away? He had the greatest resources available to mankind, meant to help people, how could he not?

So he found a way to survive--a dangerous method, but he never expected to live through any of this anyway--and took care of everyone who came to him. As a student of his world’s greatest empire, and seeing the different nation states of Eorzea at work, he came up with an egalitarian society, a socialist’s dream...and damn if they didn’t keep treating him as if he were in charge, despite all attempts to demure.

I really want more stories of his time as Exarch, and as Lyna’s grandfather. How lonely he was, but how caring, that he couldn’t help but reach out and take care of her and others? While waiting to save his home and friends he thought he’d never see again.

Then the time came and...did he really fail five times, or did he sneakily pull the Scions along on purpose? He admits to not being the best mage, just having access to knowledge and power, but he has (or developed methods; he IS an Archon, and had a hundred years to practice besides) a photographic memory and the skills instilled by his Sharlayan education. So maybe a little column A, a little column B. After all he had to protect them, too, to stop the 8th Calamity, and draw the WoL to the First. When the plan was complete, they’d get sent home, after all (I personally think it didn’t work at the end of 5.3 due to his memories and soul being stored in that crystal so didn’t “count” as dead).

Yes, he lied; and it was entirely in character, a bit of that hero-loving, showboaty younger self that never had the chance to grow up, a mindset that never went away. Yes, he drug Urianger into it to the elf’s distress, and yes, Y’shtola knew something was wrong, but it would all be worth it to save the Source and the First both. Both his homes, both his families.

Hopefully he’s learned a bit about going to such dramatic secretive lengths. If not, Alisaie will do more than flick his forehead.

He never expected to live, let alone come home, to the proper time, to his younger body, to the friends he thought separated from him forever. He’s giddy and a bit fawning, yes, but if your success went wildly beyond your expectations and you lived through it after all, wouldn’t you be? If you blended two versions of yourself, gaining the knowledge and experience of an elder you in a body no longer old and limited by crystal? He has time to calm down and get to business, to learn the WoL is a hero but also a person, and get to know them for real this time--because there is, finally, the right time.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Shadowbringers #patch 5.3 #G'raha Tia #Crystal Exarch #blogging #about me #Lyn Prompts #Lyn Meta #handelgamer

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crystalbahamut · 3 years

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pounds of flesh

FFXIV Write Day 3: Scale

Summary: The Exarch is familiar with tactics used to dodge those most dangerous of creatures (Healers) and offers you his assistance.

Author’s note: Am currently ignoring the fact that there’s no faucet in the Pendant room (that I could find) because that seems inconvenient for such an otherwise nice kitchenette. The prompt started me off with the idea of scaling a staircase feeling on par with scaling a mountain but it sort of veered off from there. I really loved this prompt though; there are so many ways to take it.

Warnings: Shadowbringers spoilers, unspecified WoL, non-healing WoL (kind of), 2nd person pov, WoL/Exarch, overworking oneself on purpose

Words: 1,876

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You might have gotten a little bit…carried away today. Triffids, hoptraps, wargs, and more; you had carried out a number of quests to reduce the threats posed to those traveling the roads of Lakeland, and that wasn’t even counting the morning spent in Rak’tika helping out the Night’s Blessed with some of their chores. You don’t mind– it’s nice to be helpful, good, necessary even– but now that everything aches and some of the cuts have opened up again you wonder if maybe you took it a little far. All you wanted to do was make sure you slept well tonight, but even taking the intercity aetheryte was too much to ask of your energy stores. You have scaled cliffs and mountains, but right now the thought of scaling the steps to your room is making you want to find a place the guards don’t patrol and just lay on the ground. It’s a good thing the manager is on break right now, or you’d have to field some uncomfortable questions about why you’re just standing around, staring.

“There you are.”

You flinch. Mayhap the manager would have been the lesser of two well-intentioned evils, considering the Exarch sounds…not exactly smug, but knowing. You stand taller and clear your throat. “Evening Exarch,” you say. “Did you need something?”

“Not precisely, though I am wont to worry when you stay out so late,” he says and steps towards you.

That…you almost turn around for that. He worries? You shake your head; of course he worries, you are (supposedly) the one hope for the world’s survival. ‘Tis nothing more than prudence. “Nothing to worry about; I’m quite fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the smile in his voice as he comes around your side, and you quickly look away. “Should I be flattered that you seem to be emulating me?”

You scowl and pull the head covering down farther. How in the world does he see anything like this? “You didn’t invent hooded robes, Exarch.”

“No, I did not,” he chuckles. “However I have not seen you wearing one, until now.”

“Mayhap I simply felt like it.”

“Mayhap you did,” he says. “Or mayhap you are trying to hide a head wound incurred when a lake viper used its tail to swat you into a tree.”

You don’t have a good comeback for that. “You know, nobody likes a know it all,” you grumble and try to sink into your shoulders. One of these days you are going to break that damn magic mirror of his.

“My dear warrior,” he sighs as though indulging you in a whim. “What would it take for you to accompany me to Spagyrics?”

You turn to give him a look of incredulity and then realize that probably isn’t very effective. However he sighs and says, “I see.”

“Do you?” you ask. “I can’t see anything like this; I don’t know how you do it.”

He doesn’t take the bait, unfortunately. “Would you allow me to see to your wounds then?”

“I can heal myself.”

“If you could, you already would have.” He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, though right on a sore spot that twinges, and you try not to wince. “I would just like some assurance you are well enough. If you are uncomfortable with me, I can fetch one of the Scio-”

“You,” you say immediately and take his arm. You pull back the hood to see with your good eye and find his mouth partly opened in surprise. “I trust you.” Also, if Alisaie or Y’shtola see you in this state, they will put you out of their misery. But you meant what you said. You do trust him.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, as though he’s honored, and the wondrous tone of his voice is enough to give you the energy to make it up the stairs and to your room.

“I don’t think I’ve seen someone manage to limp so successfully on both legs before,” the Exarch says and goes to the cupboard where the first aid kit lives.

“It’s not that bad– though I’m going to warn you that I’m a bit dirty so it probably looks worse than it is,” you say and pull off the robe. Gently, as everywhere it touches seems to throb with new pain, or maybe the fatigue is getting to you. While he’s turned around you quickly (ow) change into some shorts and a tank top and sit on the bench by the door.

When he turns around the Exarch actually stops in his tracks. “Wicked white,” he says and sighs. “If Chessamile saw you like this…”

“The Warrior of Darkness would be ended by the wrath of a bypassed healer.” You put a finger to your lips. “But surely now my trusty accomplice will help me.”

He smiles again, though he looks like he’s trying to wrangle it back into a disapproving frown. “Extortion now, is it?” he asks as he starts filling a bowl with water.

“I think your offer belied the feelings of one used to dodging chirurgeons,” you say and give yourself a quick check to make sure anything that needs treating is visible. Thankfully your torso just endured some bruising; it’s your limbs that took the brunt of everything. And your head, you’re reminded as you try to gingerly scrape off some of the dried blood and accidentally reopen the wound, making fresh blood course back down over your eye. “Oops.”

“Perhaps I have, but even my own injuries pale in comparison. I can see why any healer would have their hands full with you,” the Exarch says as he comes over to take your hand, shove some cloth in it, and force you press it hard against the cut. “Pray just hold that there for now.”

Now that you’re able to relax and do nothing, exhaustion courses through your bones and you do as he bids if only because anything else is far too much effort. You struggle to stay awake as he pulls over a chair, the medical kit, and the bowl of water, and blink yourself back to consciousness when he sits down.

“Are there any sprains?” he asks as he looks over the injuries.

“My right ankle feels a bit funny, and I think I pulled something in my left thigh, but mostly I’m just scraped up,” you say. He dabs some of the scratches with the clean water and it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. You almost start to fall asleep with his gentle ministrations.

But when he presses a new, slightly damp cloth to those scrapes, the stinging wakes you right up. “Thal’s balls!” you hiss and resist the urge to rip his hands away. On the plus side, your head has stopped bleeding again; now it only throbs as you set the bloodied cloth aside and try to quell the nausea caused by pain.

“I apologize,” he murmurs and dabs it more gently. It’s not a good feeling but you can bear it a little easier now that you know it’s coming. He clears his throat. “What were you working on so frenetically today?”

“Huh?” You think about the question. “Oh– nothing much really; I was just taking a few jobs here and there.”

“Are you in need of gil?” he asks and lifts his head. Presumably to look at you. “Surely some of these jobs could have waited another day?”

You take the washcloth and wring it out before you start cleaning your other leg, and then your arms. It will help him get through this easier. And it also makes it so you don’t have to look at him now. “They could have. But I wanted them done.”

“Because you plan to take the day for yourself tomorrow?”

“Perhaps,” you say. “Perhaps this is how I want to spend my days.”

“Working yourself to the bone when you already do so much?” He finishes wrapping your ankle and grabs your hand. He says your name gently, without reproach. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” You shut your eyes. “Sometimes…I just want to sleep. That’s all.”

“I see,” he says and doesn’t press for more. If this were Alphinaud you wouldn’t be able to escape without some awkward attempt at platitudes on his end, or Urianger, who would try to make suggestions while also nearly putting you to sleep with one of his lectures, but the Exarch keeps tending to you with hands that are gentler than they have any right to be.

When he starts treating the cut on your head it’s a good excuse to close your eyes, but even without some supposed excuse you don’t think you would do any differently. He’s so…gentle. Healers, even the kindest ones, are all business– as they should be, as they’re always the ones that have to make sure everyone is fighting fit for the next catastrophe. But the Exarch touches you so tenderly, like he wants to put you back together piece by piece, with soothing motions and soft brushes of skin, and crystal that’s warmer than it looks, and it’s all you can do to keep from falling apart in his capable hands.

“One moment, my warrior,” he murmurs and you realize you’re halfway to sleep by the fact that you can’t seem to open your eyes when he leaves, but it doesn’t bother you overmuch. When he comes back and nudges you to stand, you manage to do so, but you still don’t open your eyes even as you shuffle over to the bed with his help. You sit on sheets– the cover has been pulled back already, you realize with delayed thoughts as the Exarch tucks you in. You’ll be mortified in the morning, but for now…

“I pray sweet dreams find you tonight, my warrior.”

You think you imagine the gentle kiss placed upon your brow, but in case this isn’t some lovely dream and he is still around to hear it, you whisper, “Thank you.”

The next morning finds you sore and a little stiff, but you can recognize that you’re better off than you would have been otherwise.

You also find a collection of medicinal-looking mixtures all lined up in bottles in a neat little row on the table. And, when you go over to investigate, a note from the Exarch.

My dear warrior,

Though it is not a happy thought, there are many in Norvrandt who share your desire for uninterrupted sleep, as well as your difficulties attaining it. These elixirs each have their own cards describing ingredients and dosage; if you find one to your liking, it would be a simple matter of requesting more, and I should be delighted to do so.

Also, if you ever find the climb to your room to be too arduous, perhaps the smaller staircase leading to the tower itself would be less of a strain. Once inside, there are easier ways to get around that I would be happy to show you.

With fondest wishes,

The Crystal Exarch

You smile and fold the letter back up. An easier way to the Ocular, hm? You’d like to see that. Perhaps now is a good time to stretch your legs and make the climb.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite prompt 3: scale #ffxiv fanfic #shadowbringers spoilers #the crystal exarch #warrior of light #wolexarch #wol x exarch

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blorbos-of-the-7th-dawn · 2 years

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Someone had the tag of "love is stored in the Urianger" and just. Yeah

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thebmatt · 3 years

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FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt#19 - Free day!

It’s the first sunday of the month I’ve had free enough to write something! I decided to pen a follow-up to Day 10’s submission. How I handled Rheika and G’raha’s interaction drew a bit of criticism there, so this will hopefully clarify things. I plan on revising it just a little to make it more clear exactly why she decked him, but I stand by why she did it.

It was the day after the big celebration of the final return of the night. The Scions had scattered about Norvrandt to return to the placed they’d been helping before Rheika had arrived, and she was about to make her triumphant return home after all these months

Before she did that, however, she had hoped to clear the air between her and G’raha a little more than she had the previous night.

“So, G’raha. Was it always your plan to sacrifice yourself after you absorbed the corrupted Light aether out of me?”

He chuckled. “Yes, though I must stress, I DID NOT expect it to overwhelm your blessing. A severe miscalculation on my part that necessitated that I spring my plan to take the aether from you much sooner than I planned. Unfortunately, in my haste, I did not account for all of the variables…hence Emet-Selch surprising me and taking me prisoner.”

Rheika nodded, a look of confusion still writ on her face. “Fair enough, I suppose. But then I don’t understand….your plan was to show me a big romantic gesture to get me to realize I loved you all along. How was that going to work if you were dead?”

G’raha started to answer, then looked over to her, his uneasiness plain. “Is answering this going to get me punched again?”

She giggled. “No, silly. I admit that was probably an overreaction, but I was quite angry at the time. I’m past it now.”

He exhaled in relief. “Ah, good. Well, as I said, the original plan was not for the removal of the aether at the site of Vauthry’s demise. I had planned to bring you back to the Tower, then spin some fiction about safely removing the aether from within you to store in the Tower’s reserves, which were emptied in our journey to the First’s pass. In truth, I would be absorbing it unto myself, then journeying to the rift between worlds to allow it to take me where I could harm no one and release it safely.”

She grinned slyly. “And let me guess, during that moment you envisioned a heart to heart with me?”

He cringed, but only a little. “…Yes. And I would have reminded you that my past self still slept in the Tower and that the two of you could have had a future together.”

“Ha! Well I suppose it’s a good thing you realized what a colossal fuckup this whole plan ended up being.”

“Indeed, and I greatly regret not coming clean to you once that had happened, but I saw no other way to safely dispose of the Lightwarden’s corrupted aether. You would still have tried to stop me. So at that point….I considered it a fair atonement for the hell you were undergoing.”

She shook her head. Would people ever stop trying to make sacrifices on her behalf? “Well, I’m glad we foiled that too. Punching aside, now that you realize what a mess you made, I’m glad you weren’t able to go through with this. You’re a good man, G’raha. Keep being one and we can be friends again”

“But no more, yes?”

She smile, a bit of sadness in her eyes. “That’s right. Even setting aside my rule about the no-falling-in-love thing, which you have to admit you broke in a major way, taking you to bed with me would probably not entirely healthy for you, so it’s never gonna happen.”

“That is entirely fair and also expected. I accept without complaint.”

“Good”

Rheika approached the portal that would take her home to the Source. She knew that all of her more scholarly friends had said that she was more than capable of both making the journey and coming back as she liked, but she was still a bit worried about it. Before she could attune herself to the flow back home, G’raha called out to her.

“Wait. A final question if you’ll permit.” He gave her a cheeky smile. “Was it also part of my punishment that you essentially propositioned Thancred, Y’shtola, and Urianger in front of me?”

“Er….you heard that? Of course you did. Miqo’te hearing. It was at the time, but that was also very petty of me. I’m sorry about that.”

“No, please don’t. After all, if we are to be friends, I must expect you to be true to yourself!”

She laughed. “Farewell, G’raha Tia, I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time, Warrior of Darkness and Light. You’ve more than earned a respite after all”

Rheika tapped into the aetherial flow, and let the teleportation spell take her home.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV 2021 Writing Challenge #Rheika Aliapoh #g'raha tia

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faelune-home · 4 years

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FFXIV Write 2020 #21: Foibles

(A/N: Another mostly npc focused piece, and again its focused on Lyse and her own mourning. :’D Miqo!Fufu is in the background but I decided not to slip her in here. Prompt focus was mainly based off of Yda, or more Lyse’s take on her, and a presumed characterisation for her based on how Lyse acted. Quirky and fun, I’d like to think.

Set during the trip to Kugane in Stormblood, pre-Sirensong Sea, with mentions of departed characters.

Word count: 1469

@ffxiv-writers)

“Can I ask you something?” Lyse perked up at the question, turning away from watching the sea horizon to look at Alisaie beside her. The girl wore an uneasy frown, and added quickly, “I’ll admit it’s probably not a comfortable question. I’d understand if you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Curiosity piqued, Lyse tilted her hand and gave the girl a friendly nudge. “Well, you’ve caught my attention now. And it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do on this trip other than talk.” The few weeks onboard the Misery had been uneventful, and with little more to do other than plan ahead for when they reached Kugane’s port, the Scions had often turned to idle chatter between each other.

Sometimes professional, sometimes personal.

“In that case,” the elezen hummed, “what was Yda like? I remember grandfather talking a little bit about his students when I was younger, and he brought her up in passing. But bar Urianger being around the house a lot, I never got to know any of them well.” Lyse frowned, and didn’t answer immediately.

At the far end of the ship, a thin screech broke through the air -- an attempt from Fufu at trying to learn how to play the old flute she had found stored away in a storage room.

“Like I said, I’d understand if this wasn’t something you wanted to talk about,” Alisaie quickly said, sensing the heavy air growing between them, making ready to leave the woman alone, only for Lyse to place a hand on her shoulder and say, “No, it’s fine.” The hyur gave a small smile.

“Talking about her should be fine. It’s been long enough, and this is probably a better way to remember her than the awkward mockery I’ve been taking part in these past few years.” She sighed.

“Yda was…” Lyse started, trailing off as she leaned heavily against the ship railing, staring at the churning waters of the ship’s wake below, collecting her thoughts. Then a smile. “She was a good cook.”

“Not the first thing I would’ve thought of,” Alisaie, said, tilting her head.

Lyse chuckled. “Bare with me here, it’s the first thing I thought of. But I remember very faintly when we still lived in Ala Mhigo. Father wasn’t always home, being so busy with fighting. But whenever he returned, he’d have some game with him, I can’t recall what now. But Yda always managed to make it taste amazing.”

“What about her fighting skills? From what I heard she was highly praised for that,” the other girl prompted. Lyse nodded, her eyes creasing at the thought.

“Oh she was brilliant at that. I remember her saying that when father finally beat back Theodoric and the Fist of Rhalgr was reinstated, she’d go off and train with them, and leave father to be the one staying at home looking after me.” A frown crossed her features, but she shook it off before Alisaie could think to question it.

“Of course that didn’t end up working out,” Lyse mumbled, sighing before she perked up and continued, “But I’d say getting to study at one of the finer institutions in the world and be considered an archon for her skill is a good second best. But she was always such a handful for her teachers in every other subject she had to take up alongside the physical training.”

She couldn't help but laugh, “So often I recall her just folding up her papers or doodling on them over actual studying. She never did take well to that side of academia, even with Papalymo there to help tutor her.”

“Ah, so they were already long acquainted.” Both girls jumped, spiraling round to see Alphinaud and Tataru approaching. The boy had the good sense to look sheepish at the hard stare of his sister, saying, “Apologies for the interruption, we wished to join you. There’s been no further updates from the Resistance.”

Tataru nodded. “We didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But you wouldn’t mind…”

“Not at all,” Lyse welcomed, giving the newcomers a warm smile despite the light sheen in her eyes. “We were just talking about Yda.”

“Oh, I never knew her,” tataru sighed, “But from all Papalymo told us, she was a lovely woman.”

The hyuran woman let out a huff, “I should’ve known he would tell people. But I can’t really be mad at him for it. I’m surprised I didn’t give myself up sooner with the shoddy performance.” She averted her eyes from her friends, looking to the sky.

“She always had this quirky thing about her. Saying silly stuff mostly. For all she struggled with books and essays and long lectures with lots of talking, she did get it eventually, but a lot of the scholars still treated her like a halfwit.”

Alisaie scoffed, arms folded against her chest, “I can see that. Some people back home are too self absorbed, they would dismiss other people regardless of how much effort they put in.” If anyone saw the way she clenched at her own elbow, or the way her own brother’s eyes drifted to the sea behind them, no one mentioned it.

Another shrill flute note rang out in the air.

For her own part, Lyse just nudged the girl’s arm, then continued, “Well, when that happened, she would compensate by pretending to be dim and silly, like she didn’t understand. It amused her to make them have to explain things five times, if they were generous enough, until they got annoyed and left her. It would drive Papalymo bonkers as well, probably even more so when he realised what she was doing.”

The amused smirk she wore fell, as she added quietly, “The house was always so lively. The two of us, and Papalymo when he was tutoring, or Thancred when he came ‘round to study together.”

“Thancred? They studied together?” Tataru asked.

Lyse nodded. “Well, they didn’t have any classes together, but they did have something of a kindred spirits feeling, I suppose. Two outsiders to the city, being treated as such by the citizens. Oh but I remember how they first met,” Lyse suddenly laughed.

“Yda had gotten into a spat with an older student while I was hanging around on campus. I can’t even say what it was about, it’d escalated so quickly. Whatever he said, she ended up picking him up and shoving him into a wall. Hardly anything too physical but it got at least two professors involved.

“I heard them talking about severe punishments and possibly expelling her, but right as she started panicking, Thancred just slides in out of nowhere and somehow managed to calm the situation down. The student she’d been fighting with wasn’t convinced much, but the professors were placated at least.”

She snickered, “I’m telling you, the man’s silver tongue is wasted on the ladies. I could easily see him doing well with officials if he wanted to.”

“Then I’m sure Alphinaud’s pride is grateful for the lack of competition,” Alisaie smirked, prompting an offended, “I beg your pardon,” from her brother.

The hyuran smiled, ruffling both younger kids’ hairs and receiving protests from them both.

“I’ll admit though, Thancred was a big help during those days, but he got caught up in a lot of his own work most of the time. It was mostly just Yda, Papalymo and me.” Lyse bit her lip, then sighed, “I’ll always be grateful to him. To Papalymo. For helping me after she...y’know.” Heads dipped in a moment of silence.

“And for putting up with my ridiculous suggestion. For five years I lived a lie under the guise of trying to-- I don’t know. Continue her work? Or mostly just fool myself into saying she was still around. Saying it was a way to remember her when it was just me playing pretend.”

“Oh don’t do that to yourself, we all grieve in different ways,” Tataru exclaimed, patting the taller woman on the leg in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Perhaps it wasn’t the healthiest method,Alphinaud said, “but who are we to judge. It provided you aid when you needed it most.” His words were probably meant to be encouraging, but Lyse looked away, turned back to the sea.

Alisaie gave her brother a harsh glare, then with a pat to the woman’s shoulder, said, “The important thing now is that you would honour her memory properly. Both of them even. And we’ll finish what she and your father started.”

Lyse sniffed, but she bit back the tears to smile at her friend and nodded. “You’re right. I want to be able to say I did this for them, and others like them. However long it takes now.”

A clear flute note sang into the waves.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #lyse hext #alisaie leveilleur #yda hext #tataru taru #alphinaud leveilleur #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #my writing #fufu faelune #my wol #keeper of the moon miqo'te #stormblood

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fistsoflightning · 4 years

Text

and then there was two.

there will always be someone who is completely, wholly unsaveable.

gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: salvation

even before zaya met the newest reincarnation of minfilia, part of them knew it wouldn’t be who they were expecting.

minfilia—the first minfilia, the one who kept this world living for two centuries longer than it should, started a cycle of new minfilias that inevitably dashed their lives against the horde of sin eaters because her self-sacrificing, bleeding, golden heart would never be dimmed by something as simple as time and new life—had been dead for a very long time. even before those two centuries lost to halting the flood. she may have died in the sil’dih aqueducts to save what warriors of light she could, but to zaya she died the moment they drank firebrand poison and wine while toasting to a naive new ul’dah.

the memory of her haunts both of them in the worst ways, the two of them cursed to be in pain just by being touched by minfilia back before she was a leader and icon and a banner to rally under; hells, that selfsame memory nearly got both thancred and zaya killed, back when they were out for someone to blame for all the regrets wadded into the hole in their chests that losing her made standing by the cliffside outside of idyllshire.

but she will always, always be right over zaya’s shoulder no matter what, so they try their best to separate the minfilia living inside their head and the minfilia standing right in front of them; in this world, minfilia is more than a decade younger than her, more a daughter than a sibling and deserving of so much more than what zaya can give her. it’s going through the motions but with only half the heart behind them; half-moon smiles, quiet adventures in il mheg, laughs that are less than their usual thunderous quality. their heart has been bleeding for far too long to remember how they even managed to comfort lunya, sirius, and valdis in those humble beginnings in pearl lane, wound deepened by missing friends and another war.

zaya may have been one of many warriors of light, but minfilia was the leader of the scions, the one who remembered thancred and zaya from before the calamity split their memories into two, the one who persevered through countless duties and pains to make sure the world at large would be safer, if even by just a fraction.

and even in death, she leaves both zaya and thancred on their knees when the child whose name is only minfilia because it fulfills the populace’s need for heroes and legends and lights at the ends of countless tunnels says:

“i wish they’d just say it—just say that they hate me! i can see it thancred’s eyes, in zaya’s smiles—that they wish i was dead so she could return…”

…

there will always be another version of them hiding behind the topmost layer, and zaya finds that the newest one is quieter. more akin to brooding than to escaping or confronting, more like the state they were in after fighting zenos back in ghimlyt dark. they thought they’d shaken this version of themselves off, stored it in the back of their mind.

and yet here it is, with all the dreadful penchant for reminiscence they could ever want.

someone in their motley crew of heroes suggests they take a night of rest before facing a trolley ride one might not return from—honestly, zaya wouldn’t be surprised if it were lunya or hanami who asked (more like demanded), hoping to get them (or thancred) to say something, anything—and by the dirty looks lunya gives both of them before retreating to her sleeping bag, thancred hasn’t done anything either.

“i can’t believe either of you right now. idiots, the both of you.” lunya hisses as she rolls out her bedroll next to hanami’s, and zaya silently agrees before slinking out of the small room all of them have been spared to sleep in for a few short bells.

even in spite of the light festering under their skin, eating away at the font of lightning at the center of their soul and sapping their energy. zaya is too tired to sleep. too awake, too aware to sort through everything, and too in pain from the swell of their heart beneath their skin to choke out the words i’m sorry in some worthless attempt to make up for faults that have been lying below the surface of their skin for years.

so instead of retreating to the shed thaffe and jeryk cleared for them to sleep in, away from the endless light, they climb up to the tallest cliff, sit at the edge, and stare blankly into the orange sands of amh araeng. waiting, observing, taking in the endless weight of a dying world and drowning in it to see if they can even possibly measure up to what little minfilia feels when the people of the crystarium call her oracle, a beacon, a living legend.

even if zaya was fourteen again and filled with the anger at their own family they’d dispensed a while back, they don’t think the sheer rage of being shunned would match up to the despair of not just feeling, but knowing two people who are supposed to be your guardians detest you. zaya couldn’t dare to pretend they knew the pain minfilia was going through. hells, they barely knew themselves; understanding others was beyond them.

so they don’t, and instead of dwelling on the things they cannot understand, they focus on meditating—familiar, comforting, simple. close your eyes, breathe in deep, count to ten, exhale, repeat until your thoughts are calm instead of thunderous.

and, inevitably, in the quiet lull of the thunderstorms inside their head, their thoughts wander to the minfilia they knew—the one that yet lives inside their head.

she might be two summers their elder, but zaya can’t help but think of her as younger, even when they met in the goldsmith’s guild all those years ago—she a miner with a gift and an almost-brother and they a goldsmith with nothing left to lose. even now, with her eyes stolen away by the crystalline blue of hydaelyn, zaya can remember the warm grey from before she was a mouthpiece for this god all of them were bound to, and wonders why.

why take her? why someone so dedicated, so optimistic, so many things left to do and say? why make her a mouthpiece instead of giving the mercy of not seeing your friends and almost-family suffer at the sight of you? why can’t zaya save the first woman they thought of as my sister since leaving the steppe?

i promise i won’t hurt you, they said once upon a time to a girl afraid of them because of their legacy as the ‘bolt from the blue’, coliseum menace and one of few to face off against ‘raging bull’ raubahn aldynn and survive the encounter. i promise.

why were they calling themselves a hero—or worse, minfilia’s friend if they couldn’t extend, couldn’t keep that promise with a girl that carries minfilia’s legacy?

zaya opens their eyes to the expanse of orange sands once again, entirely drained and wanting to go back to a time before… everything. they can’t come up with an answer before sati comes out from the bushes and sits beside them, laying her hand over theirs in a solidarity zaya hasn’t seen from her in years—not since she was small enough to not see above their waist and living under both dorbei’s and their care.

“are you…” sati trails off, her voice murky, like zaya is underwater and hasn’t surfaced in a long, long time. “no. i’m… i’ll just sit here, ‘kay? not gonna leave you here.” her voice is the firmest it’s been in years, more confident in her decision than ever before, and zaya doesn’t fight it. they don’t fight reese or rjoli’s pitying stares, ihget’sae’s worried glance from the corner of the room, hanami’s angry tail whips, or lunya’s frustrated silence when they walk back into the shed, either. they don’t rest much either, instead pulling out their journal and flipping to the page where thancred had jokingly wrote some poetry over five years ago, before everything crumbled and their ul’dahn trio fell to two, fingertips running over the words—

but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.

…

zaya quietly walks over to minfilia as thancred and urianger do some final checks to their equipment and the talos, not really knowing where their fellow warriors are but knowing they don’t have long before they leave. their stomach churns, empty and hollow, but filled with imaginary butterflies instead; the kind that accompanies both their feelings for thancred and the dread of arguments.

“minfilia?” they say as clearly as possible, voice still cracking from the dryness of amh araeng and the struggle of learning to speak after decades of hardly opening their mouth. “c’n we talk?”

she sniffles, nodding her head, and zaya scoops up both of her hands into theirs, quietly turning her to face them and oh, her eyes are still red and teary, she’s still not handling this well. the urge to just pull her into a hug and never let go is overwhelming, but what she needs is not a pat to the head, not a simple hug, not just loving words and a sincere apology but all of the above.

if only thancred could pull his guts together to join them.

“heard you an’ urianger yesterday,” zaya says soothingly, tightening their grip over minfilia’s small hands only when fear seeps into her expression. “and ‘m so, so sorry i can’t love you the way you need me to.”

minfilia practically stumbles over her words, quietly tugging her hands further and further from zaya’s grasp and oh gods zaya really hopes they aren’t hurting her, quickly letting go when she tugs next. “i—no, it’s fine, i promise! yesterday was just—”

“no, y’u were…” it’d be too cruel to say that she was wrong; too cruel to say that both of them truly wanted the best for her, didn’t hate her in misguided parts when thancred said nothing at all and zaya couldn’t find the right things to tell her, but it was easier, if needed. then again, zaya had never been one for the path of least resistance. “you were right, but not about one thing; we… we both hate ourselves.”

she looks utterly shocked at the idea, but zaya pushes forward and tells the tale of how they and thancred almost didn’t live to see norvrandt; how they pushed each others’ buttons until he cracked first, how they both tortured themselves over the mess that was that age-old escape from ul’dah and how minfilia’s legacy has haunted them for longer before they knew her… with many, many changes. it isn’t a ballad, nor a fairytale, but it is the truth, and it is what she deserves to know about her guardian and her ally.

“you… you two…?” she mumbles, eyes wide and less teary than before. good. “but—you two are practically—when we were in dhon mheg, and the ravel, and the temple, you two were inseparable.”

zaya feels like that is a gross exaggeration—they can stand not knowing how thancred is doing for a few minutes—but continues anyways. “not always. we’re a lil’ stupi’ now, b’t we were worse ‘fore this.”

“i don’ wanna be forgiven,” they say, quietly; a secret that very few know and even fewer try to remember. “i don’ deserve to, an’ neither does thancred. but…” they pull her closer, wrapping their arms around her back and hugging her tight, as if she might suddenly disappear from zaya’s life like minfilia did all those years ago before they could tell her how incredibly glad they were to know her. “i wanna try again—do better, f’r you, if you let me.”

minfilia, for all her strength, doesn’t respond—not speechless, but occupied. her tears drip, drip, drip down zaya’s back, the blue overcoat they normally wear tied around their waist to reveal their (rather ragged) white tanktop. when she does catch her breath for long enough in gaps between her silent sorrow, she pulls her arms away from zaya’s chest to wrap around their neck instead, burying her face into their shoulders.

“i… i don’t know, yet,” she says truthfully, and zaya is glad thancred told her about the whole lying versus harsh truth thing they’ve always had a hard time explaining themselves. “can i tell you when we get back?”

when we get back, zaya thinks, sifting through the words in their head. she was always more earnest around them, or lunya, or any of their small crew that wasn’t thancred, really, but in her words she promises, not tries to promise. we.

“o’ course,” zaya promises back, because it’s the least they can do. they have a lot of promises to keep, they realize shortly after opening their mouth, but it feels… good. “always.”

...

the trolley crashes—because yet again, nothing is ever easy for the warriors of darkness, is it?—zaya’s horn is cracked from falling onto a very big rock, ran’jit is soaked in the memories of an old, different minfilia and then betrayed by the newest minfilia, and thancred stays behind. zaya prays it’s not because he fears what he might say to the old minfilia but because he’s had decades to learn that sometimes actions speak as loud as words do from learning zaya’s story until it was burned into his memory, fingers calloused and burnt from learning a storm made incarnate inside out, and he’s finally decided to use that knowledge instead of keeping it boxed in his chest. their head is utterly throbbing as they run ahead of lunya, lightning running through their blood faster than ever before because what if they lose not one but two on this journey, what if thancred has finally bit off more than he can chew, what if it’s like ul’dah all over again—

“zaya!” ihget’sae barks out in worry, even if his voice is more angry than it is soothing, and it hurts so much more than they thought it would to listen. “slow down!”

they stop, then, if only because the sickening feeling of bile rising up their throat from the pain is new, different, horrible. minfilia—who looks worriedly at them as she passes—keeps running ahead, and only when hanami and sati catch up to all of them does zaya start their desperate sprint again.

when the light-seared sky makes hanami’s aurum regis horn glint menacingly, zaya clutches at their own horn tighter. the crack feels bigger than it should, but it—their horn—doesn’t matter. if the price to pay for norvrandt’s salvation was their horn and the pain sure to follow, they’d pay it gladly. they’ve survived worse than a loss of balance; even if it did mess up their ability to fight with their fists, it would be a equal exchange for a world.

one life for one world, urianger’s voice rings from memory, except this time he had no say in the sacrifice.

good, a more bitter part of them responds. the pure rancor from the voice inside their head sings of something abyssal, something they usually bury under lightning and fire and earth, but it sings truer than most of zaya’s scattered thoughts, as of late. as it should be.

zaya keeps running.

and when they finally make it to the fallen palace of nabaath areng and get dragged through a centuries-old memory of ardbert, minfilia, the warriors of darkness before them, and the flood, zaya is left on their knees by minfilia for the second and final time.

“ours is a meeting long overdue,” the word says to the oracle, not even waiting for the warriors surrounding little minfilia to regain their bearings. “full glad am i that we may finally speak.”

zaya remains sitting on the liquid crystal floor as lunya, hanami, sati—everyone but them gets up to look minfilia—the word of the mother minfilia—eye to eye, instead staring at the light bleeding and blurring her figure like some runny painting in a tarnished storybook left out in the rain. maybe it’s the tears stinging at the corners of zaya’s vision, but she looks… tired. tired of waiting, tired of watching, tired of perpetuating a cycle of pain and suffering that is going to end, one way or another, now.

and suddenly, they have one answer to thousands of whys. minfilia cannot be saved, they think, because she is like you. determined. blessed. chosen. (cursed.)

so when the word—minfilia looks to them longingly, zaya does not say how they wish she was still alive, how they wish they could show her what they can accomplish now. instead, zaya foolishly says, “t’hncred says ‘ello,” and keeps their mouth shut for the rest of the short visit to some realm where the gold of both minfilias’ hair bleeds into the light-soaked scenery, their saved tears quietly hidden behind untied hair and long bangs.

they think they might make it from this conversation relatively whole, watching quietly and contentedly as the two daughters of hydaelyn speak their minds with them as the witnesses. the almost do, and then minfilia whispers “i am truly sorry, friend. i love you.” and zaya’s heart is undone.

…

they don’t wake up with everyone else at the foot of nabaath areng, after minfilia disappears for good and after the waking memories of ardbert being refused his sacrifice.

instead, zaya wakes to their hair untied, thancred’s (torn, bloodied, stained) coat thrown over them, and a girl with grey eyes and terra-cotta hair looking surprised to see them awake. not a few seconds later does zaya sit up, head reeling as they look around to see the scions sitting just a little bit over three yalms away

“zaya,” she exhales tiredly. “you’re awake. lunya thought—” she points to their right horn, not daring to touch the ridges. “—the wound you were hiding here was more serious than just knocking you unconscious, seeing as it… well.”

they reach up to touch where the crack was, fingertips shaky and scratched up beyond all belief and find the smooth surface that only accompanied crystal, and from the slight thrum in their horn from the touch…

“thancred says it’s lightning crystal, or some gemstone attuned to your aether.” the girl carefully presses a mirror—dusty, old, slightly cracked—into their hands. “i, er. i don’t quite understand it all, but… when she—minfilia, that is—brought us back to nabaath areng, my appearance and your horn were already like this.”

zaya lifts the mirror to their face, and oh—the crack on their horn is filled with small slivers of gleaming gemstone; blue topaz, which explains the weird, sharp, clear and crisp tones to all of the sounds zaya’s can hear. it’s almost too similar to the exarch’s situation, what with the crystal marking his face and arm, but hells, they’re surprised they can hear at all with the gemstone filling the gaps between rough bone. gemstones aren’t crystal, after all.

but zaya has more pressing matters to attend to than figuring out the logistics of filling in a fracture with a non-organic material; besides, it’s not like their horn will be going anywhere.

“who are you?” zaya asks as the chatter from the scions and warriors die down.

“i—” the small girl with the weight of a two century long legacy in her hands and every last one of them standing by her side pauses, a small glimmer of hope crossing her eyes like a thunderbolt as she looks at them carefully. they both know what zaya asked wasn’t from amnesia, but of something else. “my name… is ryne.”

firefly, zaya quickly signs, and thancred inhales sharply from three yalms away even as ryne tilts her head in confusion. he knew nearly every sign in the book; it wasn’t surprising he’d catch them giving ryne a gift of their own. it’s the closest to saying i love you so, so much without saying it at all, because words wouldn’t possibly fit i’m sorry, are you alright, and can i try again all in six words.

“means firefly,” they clarify for ryne when she looks back at thancred, confusion turning into worry. “your new namesign, if you want? can’t keep callin’ y’u minfilia.”

“...i would like that very much,” ryne says, smiling and trying to keep a few tears from building at the corners of her eyes, and in that very moment—then there were two of an old friendship left behind, the shadow of minfilia finally lifting from zaya’s shoulder as ryne’s smile brought zaya’s heart back; salvation.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #shadowbringers #seaswolchallenge #ryne #zaya qestir #minfilia warde #thancred waters #ryne waters #my writing #i have a lot of feelings about the amh araeng section of shadowbringers and it shows #shoutout to mom squad who for whatever reason continues to put up with my angsty bullshit for like. the third week in a row #im so sorry to literally Everyone who reads this #i was experimenting with some ideas and ended up with brainworms #bonus shoutout to lordofcrowns for making a post with the poem i've linked because i've literally been looking for that exact poem for AGES #this is. a very experimental introspection piece and i hope yall like it a little! :3 #best of elie #tales from the blue #s: bound by faith

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anchanted-one · 4 years

Text

FFXIV. Write Prompt. 25. Wish

"You're early!" E'nisse exclaimed. "I expected you to spend the whole night getting to know each other!"

"Well, I did promise to rest," Ryosen grinned. He was already so much better than he had been in the Source, like as though he had left all of his regrets behind. "I intend to stay awhile here in the First. Ryne and I will hopefully have all the time we need to get to know one another."

"We had such a good time though!" Ryne said excitedly. "And Ryosen-san agreed to teach me the way of the Samurai starting tomorrow!"

"I didn't!" he protested. "I said I'm resting tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh?" Ryne challenged, hands on her hips. "What of the day after?"

"Done!" Ryosen offered her his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she grinned and shook it. E'nisse couldn't help but notice that her grin was like to the Au Ra's.

"Good night, Ryne."

"Good night, Ryosen-san!"

Once the doors closed, leaving the pair alone, E'nisse immediately commented. "You two have gotten close really quick."

"Eh? Is that a problem?" Ryne asked.

"Not in this case," E'nisse said. "We know Ryosen, and he's quite honest. You on the other hand... do you always trust new people so easily? I remember you trusting us as quickly."

"Well, all of you are special cases," Ryne said defensively. "Thancred risked his life to get me out of my cage in Eulmore, and he and Urianger told me a lot of stories about the Warriors of Light from their world. And I had Minfilia's echoes guiding me sometimes, which told me that you can be trusted. When I met you all, it was like I already knew you. And Ryosen... Minfilia told me herself that I can trust him completely. I'm not... I'm not a completely naive child."

"Well, a little caution is good for you either way kiddo. Promise me you will remember that.""I promise," Minfilia sighed. "So what did you talk about?"

All of her earlier enthusiasm appeared to come flooding back to Minfilia. "He gave me a present!" she exclaimed, and removed the silk-wrapped tube from her side.

Unwrapping it, she revealed a thick, lacquered leather case in which rested a beautiful, polished bamboo flute. Being a Bard, a lover of music, E'nisse's eyes narrowed to slits in her own excitement.

"Oh, I remember that!"

"It's his shakuhachi! He played it for me, showing me a few of his favorite songs—and Minfilia's as well! And he told me a lot about Doma, his home! And showed me how to play and take care of this too!" She hugged the instrument. "He promised to tell me more stories!"

"Well, I certainly approve!" E'nisse bounced eagerly on her bed. "One can never hear enough stories. And will you tell me said stories? I don't know many good Doman ones; Erika had me shooting Garleans in Gyr Abania while she went there alone, the meanie!"

Ryne, who loved her roommate for her unending store of bedtime stories to tell her, was delighted to return the favor. "Your wish is my command!"

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv writing challenge

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efrmellifer · 4 years

Text

Extant Ache

The ache of it was going to kill her. In her head, in her belly, down to the tips of her fingers. It hurt. It hurt. Y’shtola was right, Etien had cried as much to her out in the Exedra.

Hot, speedy tears sailing down her cheeks as she warbled out, “’Shtola, I’m scared. Minifilia—our Minfilia—called me a hero, but I’m sick with light. You saw it and Ryne saw it. I’m sick and I’m scared.”

Y’shtola beckoned Etien close, hugged her, and eventually stroked her hair, starting at the spot between the backs of her ears. “Shh, shh. You have made it this far. We can watch over you for this last Lightwarden, and then, all of us can return home. We must and will find a way to extinguish, to expunge, that light, and we can return you to Ishgard just the way you were.”

Etien sniffled, and Y’shtola released her.

“All right?”

Now Etien nodded, swallowing thickly. “All right.”

“Good. Go get some more rest. You worked hard out there.”

So she’d done that, getting in less of a conversation, and slightly less reassuring than she’d hoped, with Ardbert, and then he was gone.

“There’s only one hero in this room,” he’d said, “and it is not me.”

Etien’s eyes welled and overflowed again as she wanted to sink back to the floor, tears wetting her arm dressings.

If he meant her, which of course he did, then there was no hero here. There was just a sick, sad little kit prone to waterworks and hurting herself. Alphinaud and Urianger healed her faithfully, but eventually they would tire of bailing her out of her own foolhardiness.

A knock came at the door, and Etien sighed, pushing up and groaning as her joints protested, taxed in the days prior.

She wiped her eyes and went to the door, opening it for the Exarch.

“Exarch,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t too tear-soggy. “Can I help you?”

“Forgive the intrusion, but Minfilia—that is, Ryne and the others were asking after you. Is everything all right?”

Etien shrugged. “It’s going to be a long night, I think. I had that pain again; I’m sure Y’shtola’s told you about it.”

“That pain again? Did it pass?”

She nodded, tiredly.

“Thank goodness for that. I would not wish to see you suffer.” He paused, head dipping. “...though, I know only too well how much you have suffered on our behalf in recent days. Indeed, I have no right to impose upon you further. Nevertheless, I must ask one thing of you.”

“And what would that be?” Etien asked, leaning against the door. She wanted to help, if she could, but… with this ache? She might crumble to dust, become Forgiven Foolishness, before she got anything done.

“That you survive this, no matter what.”

She sighed in relief. At least that was one of her goals, too.

“When the dust settles, you must return to your world. For the battles to come and the wars yet unwon.”

...ah, yes. Her eternally lengthening list of tasks. It was never ‘go home, that you might be safe and warm and happy in the manor.’ But… Etien hadn’t been chosen to live in comfort.

“The final Lightwarden is all that stands between us and victory. There is still much we must do to prepare, but for now, I will see if there is aught that may remedy the strange affliction which plagues you.”

Etien nodded her thanks. “I’ll see it through.” She punctuated it with a spirited crack of her knuckles.

“Of that I have no doubt. Even if I had my pick of every reflection’s heroes, I could not have asked for a finer champion.”

She smiled.

“I’ll not keep you from your rest any longer. Take as much time as you like.”

She sighed (but tried to keep it light and yawn-y), said goodbye, and watched him go.

She wouldn’t be sleeping yet.

Sat down on the bed, digging in her bag for paper and something to write with.

Then, Etien settled in to write.

My darling Aymeric,

I’m feeling introspective tonight. I was called a hero a few times over and I don’t know if I believe it. I know you do, and you never hesitate to tell me. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to be, or at least feel like, this confused little kit for the rest of my life.

Though I suppose… well. Some things never change? It was so easy to get lost, among all those trees.

…I don’t think I ever told you of the day I left the Shroud, did I?

May I? I wish I could tell you in person, and I suppose I could just wait until I’m in your arms again– we only have one Warden left, after all– but tonight, the story is burning within me.

Deep in the Black Shroud, there lived a small clot of Miqo’te. They were M tribe. Ellifer, his parents, his beloved, and their three kits.

The oldest was called M’etien whenever she went out.

I wonder if my siblings miss me. I still don’t know how the Delivery Moogles managed to get that letter from them to me. To Ishgard. I guess the news traveled and they made a guess?

Anyroad. When I was about 19, I was getting entirely fed up with the way things were going in my life. I was being trained up as a homemaker, despite my incapacity to do it ‘correctly’ and the outside taunts that that degree of relevance was never in my future. On top of that, I was spending a lot of time with T’ahn, and we were spinning plans to split off one night. Just us, no other females from other nearby tribes, even though that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

A couple years of that passed, and I could feel something slipping away inside me. I was never sure if I could regain it, but I refused to let what little stores of it I still possessed be taken from me any longer.

So I packed everything I felt like I could take. It was perhaps one change of clothes, a few mementos and a sundry or two. And my bow and quiver, of course. I hiked for days, trying to stay to paths I had walked thousands of times before, telling myself not to turn around.

I had to try to avoid detection along the roads, because I knew if I was seen, I would lose my resolve. Blessedly, I knew that I was on a trade route, and I climbed into the first wagon headed for Gridania. The rest is very much real history, documented and reported.

But you have the full truth: the Warrior of Light entered Gridania halfway to naked, dispirited, gil-less, and lonely, carrying only sparse memories of her first two decades of life.

I will say, as much as I wanted to discard all the trails of memories that came with calling myself M’etien, it is odd that now everyone speaks to me as if we’re very close. I don’t need to say that to you, though. You would always have been welcome to call me Etien, no matter how I introduced myself.

I did, however, permanently fuse that M to my surname. I’m not Ellifer’s kit, not T’ahn Tia’s breeding queen. I’m the only Mellifer there is.

I won’t lie and say I prefer sleeping in sand and coming to within an ilm of my life so often, but it’s a life where I have my friends, and most of all, I have you. And I would gladly go toe-to-toe with more Primals and nasty foreign generals in exchange for so sweet a life as that.

All my love, Etien.

She sealed it, scented it, and then did something she hadn’t done for what felt like far too long.

“Feo Ul! Feo Ul? My darling little branch?” She sighed. “Pixies. Feo UL!”

Finally, the mass of orange-red, the shard of the Faerie King, appeared before Etien.

“Here I am, my sapling!”

“You chide me for never calling, and then don’t come when I do,” she giggled, ruffling Feo Ul’s hair as best she could.

“What do ye have for me?”

“A letter. Get it to Ishgard, please? Also, you can have one of these apples when you come back.”

At that, Feo Ul licked their lips in anticipation and sailed off with the letter.

Etien sighed. Now she could sleep easy.

#fic #Aytien... kinda?

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