#Father Comfraire

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WIP guessing game: smirk(s/ed)

HOW DOES MY IN PROGRESS THANCRED LONGFIC NOT YET HAVE A SMIRK AT FOUR CHAPTERS IN?!

OK. Fine. We'll go to the Avengret rewrite fic.

Chapter 2: He let out a deep breath as Comfraire smirked and shrugged, still awaiting an answer.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #2: Aberrant

Coerthas, 1551 (About 26 years before the events of “A Realm Reborn”)

“You know once you do this, there’s no going back,” Father Comfraire said in his soft, quiet voice.

Corran nodded, walking alongside the slender old priest. The day was warm and the wind blew through the long grasses, the constant hush muffling their footsteps as they made their way to the old watchtower. Corran looked to the sky, watching to see if the wings cutting the air were birds or dragons.

“There have been some who questioned your commitment to the cause,” Comfraire continued. “You’ve been less...active, since marrying that foreign woman and fathering a son.”

Corran stiffened, but before he could argue, Comfraire shook his head. “If anything, the scandal of your marriage made for a decent smokescreen. You play the part of a good Halonic well; one passionate rebellion is to be expected now and then--and she is lovely.”

“My marriage is neither convenience nor a fit of thoughtless passion,” Corran said in a low, cold voice. “I’ll thank you not to speak of my wife so again.”

Comfraire remained maddeningly calm, gaze fixed forward. “I care not if you love her or simply enjoy what’s between her fine legs--the facts speak for themselves and even after all this time, none suspect where your sympathies truly lie.” They stopped outside the old tower, its shadow shifting with the sun’s movement to fall over them. Comfraire did turn to look at Corran now. “My only concern is if you love our cause as much--or more--as you proclaim to love your Thavnairian beauty.”

Corran ground his teeth and willed his fists to unclench; this was how the old priest simply was, and he knew that. So he nodded. “If I wish my family to be safe and free, then the truth must be known, and this war ended. By any means necessary. I’ve waited long enough, and my boy’s no infant anymore.”

“Very well.” Comfraire tilted his head slightly, toward the swollen old door half-hidden behind ivy. Corran hurried forward and pulled it open, allowing the priest to enter first.

Others waited within, men and women who dared not return to the homes they once knew, branded traitors and heretics by the lying Church. They looked up as the pair entered, some nodding in respect for Comfraire, others watching Corran closely. They wordlessly followed into the center of the tower.

The top had long since fallen in, allowing the sun’s slanting rays to shine upon the creature in the center, she who made her roost here and encouraged those who would seek the truth in this long war. Her crimson scales shimmered in the golden afternoon light, scars marking her many victories.

Avengret, a daughter of Ratatoskr, a general of Nidhogg's Horde.

Her burning orange eyes took in the men who entered her domain, head lifting. “Comfraire. What have you brought me today?” She demanded, voice deep enough to vibrate bones.

“One of our own, my lady,” Comfraire said with a deep, sweeping bow. “One who is ready finally to take the next step in our long and winding path.”

“This you so judge?” She demanded, turning her fiery gaze on Corran. He met her glower with one of his own, struggling not to fidget.

“I have known this man his whole life,” Comfraire said. “He is dedicated, and worthy.”

“Dedicated to his Eastern whore, mayhap,” a rough voice said from the right. Another hyur, pale-haired and ruddy-skinned, glaring at Corran. “Where was you when we—”

Corran’s fist connected with the man’s jaw before most in the room realized he had crossed the four yalms between them. The other hyur flailed into an old table, the half-rotten wood crumbling under the sudden weight.

“Keeping my head down and keeping useful connections,” Corran said coldly. “That’s where I was, instead of flashing my arse to the Inquisition and giving every damned Temple Knight a target, Breckt.” He leaned forward over the fallen man, still holding his jaw and wincing as he tried to sit up among the ruined wood. “And I did it while earning the affections of a proper and respectable woman. If you call her aught else again, I’ll feed you your own balls.”

Avengret’s laugh rumbled through them, the very stones vibrating. “Disparage another’s mate and reap the consequences,” she said. “I like this one, Comfraire. There is a fire here I would see stoked against mine enemies.”

“I thought you would, my lady,” the old priest’s soft voice was nearly inaudible next to the dragon’s simple breathing, yet he was clearly heard even through the angry rushing in Corran’s head.

Corran turned his back to Breckt to look up at Avengret. “What would you have me do?”

She appraised him for a long time. Finally her great mouth curled into what could only be a smile. “I would make of you a true warrior, though it will take time. Assuming you wish to fight so valiantly for me as you do for your mate.”

Corran’s mouth felt dry as the others whispered behind him, someone helping Breckt to his feet, the wood clattering against the hushed noises. Avengret’s eyes burned into Corran’s soul and he nodded. “Anything, my lady.”

She raised her large forearm, and as they watched, bit her own clawed digit. More of a nip from smaller side teeth, but enough for blood to well, ruby against crimson. Avengret held her wound to Corran; he could barely cover it with his hand. “Drink,” she ordered, a threatening growl to it.

He glanced at Comfraire, who nodded slowly, a spark in his eye the only show of emotion from the old priest, always so controlled. Corran took a breath, bracing his hands on Avengret’s scales; she was hot to the touch, but not unbearably so, her hide pebbly. He leaned in.

Later, Corran couldn’t consciously recall drinking from Avengret, though he knew he had; her blood was unbearable, the flames coursing through his body, spreading until he was going to burst from the fullness of heat. Others held him upright, soothed him with ice and calming words.

Somewhere above them all, the dragon laughed darkly. “What was ripped from my mother, I freely give that you, my son, might become my weapon--my vengeance. Serve well, and someday your reward will be to fly alongside your true family to destroy those thieves and murderers who would deny your stolen birthright.”

—-

Dark had fallen fully by the time Corran saw Comfraire back to the chapel where he pretended to serve the Halonic church. Corran was sure he said goodnight, but it was hard to hear or feel anything past the buzzing in his skull, the sensation of his skin rippling from flames still racing beneath the surface. He felt as if he had to be smoking like a smithy, his hair damp with sweat and the echo of a dragon’s song in his ears. Everything felt unbearably slow and fragile; he had to move, but could not go swiftly enough, could not go high enough.

The door of his home slammed, and even that seemed too distant. “Corran!” a sweet, familiar voice cut through the haze, hushed but scolding. “Are you drunk? You’ll wake Zaine!���

He looked, and sucked in a breath. His Emelia crossed to the kitchen, throwing him a disgruntled look at his antics. He didn’t care; he could drown in those dark blue eyes and thank her for the privilege. Her golden-brown skin fairly glowed in the lamps as he followed her, the light catching on her fine black locks, shimmering in his gaze. Even now, cleaning up after the evening meal, she moved with the grace of a dancer, slim form swaying to music only she could hear, music ever outside his own hearing but he would follow her lead forever if she let him. Even scolding, her voice, with its Thavnairian lilt, was a song he could never tire of, weaving over the dragon’s verse still in his head.

“I knew you meant to escort the Father on his walk but did you then stop by the tavern? I expected you home bells ago! Zaine was disappointed you weren’t here to give him a story, it took me forever to put him to bed.”

“I’ll make it up to him tomorrow,” Corran growled as he crossed the room. Emelia squeaked as he spun her around and pressed her back against the counter, kissing her fiercely. Her stiff surprise quickly melted into pliant response, her cool hands sliding up his chest and around his neck, a balm for the fire still raging through him.

His hands ran over her body, needing more, needing her, naught else could quench Avengret’s heat, as he nipped at Emelia’s jaw, her neck. “I need you,” he snarled.

She yelped, and he stiffened. “I--did I hurt you?” He asked, some of the haze clearing.

Emelia shook her head. “No--not in a bad way, I mean.” She blushed brightly, and he couldn’t help a relieved laugh. Then she cupped his face in her hands and he thought perhaps he could ascend to the Heavens after all. “This isn’t like you; are you all right? Just what did you drink tonight?”

He pulled her close once more. “Something new. Think I’ll try it again--if you’ve no objections.” He rocked against her.

Emelia gasped and shivered, then bade him pause, swallowing hard. “Just the one,” she managed to say.

Corran blinked, confusion warring with the fiery instincts raging within him.

Emelia giggled, still blushing. “The kitchen hasn’t a door, let alone a lock, to keep little boys at bay should they wake.”

Corran laughed now, perhaps too loudly as she tried to hush him. He scooped his wife into his arms, to carry her to their bed where he could ravish her until the fire in his veins abated, the song quieted in his head. To love and worship her as she deserved--before leaving her arms in the morning to do his part for the neverending war.

---

((Immediately followed up by “Passion”, the spicy continuation of Corran & Emelia’s evening.

So in one of last year’s prompts I suddenly learned Aeryn’s dad was a heretic, and apparently this year we’re exploring that more.))

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First Line Meme

Tagged by @elveny

Rules: List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

1. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Striker!” -Intros

A long-held draft that I used for the first Febhyurary 2022 post, about some of Aeryn and Thancred’s early meetings in Ul’dah, using my revised ARR start (I should really write that sometime).

2. The deeper they went the more abstract it was becoming. The sense of Minfilia’s presence guiding them remained, but so too did angry spirits bent on revenge, or simply lashing out at the sense of corporeal beings invading this incorporeal realm. -The Aitiascope

A scene in the Aitiascope from Endwalker 6.0 lvl 89 MSQ. A personalized scene of spirits specifically hindering and helping Aeryn and the Scions.

3. For the longest time, I thought I was Her replacement for my brother--that he was the hero, the 'real' Warrior of Light, and his loss at Carteneau meant She had to settle for second best. It was his idea to become adventurers, his dream to return to the realm of our birth; I simply followed, was always meant to be his support--not the champion in his stead. -Acceptance

Revised and republished on Ao3 in "Living Memory." Aeryn’s struggled with imposter syndrome since arriving in Eorzea and learning of her brother’s role as the Warrior of Light pre-Calamity. Shadowbringers started her thinking maybe she had been chosen for this after all—but only because she was the reincarnation of someone else, connected to the Ascians in a specific way. Endwalker though really gave her an “Oh” moment.

4. I have always heard Her voice. - Roevember 1 Awakening

From Roevember, which is pretty much a month-long reflection by Dark Autumn on why she and other Echo-having adventurers do what they do. Also most of the entries are very short blurbs, not actually stories, but together they make something almost cohesive.

5. “I understand you believe this is the best for everyone,” Edmont said. - Feckless

From FFXIV Write 2021, revised and republished on Ao3. The word of the day when we learned of English VA Stephen Critchlow passing, so I had Edmont de Fortemps on the brain, and while at the memorial outside the manor that evening I wrote a piece about Edmont and the times he wasn’t brave, and the time he was.

6. Thancred hadn’t expected the girl to leave like that, but at least he knew where she was going. - Petrichor

Another FFXIV Write 2021, revised and republished on Ao3. Kinda of works alongside another piece from the 2020 FFXIV Write, about partings, though this one is more Thancred coming to an acceptance of his loss.

7. This was always coming. That never makes it easier. - Destruct

Another from FFXIV Write 2021, heavily revised and republished on Ao3 in "Living Memory." My Azem, Pandora, had a brother in ancient times who aided in her travels and heroics, and through time their souls have continued to work together—though Icarus always returns to the star first.

8. What had been dreams are now waking visions. - Abstracted

Another FFXIV Write 2021, revised and republished on Ao3 in "Living Memory." An abstract, repetitive piece about the Echo and living with it. Looking at it now, the final few paragraphs really fit Endwalker well, too, though it was written two months prior. The benefits of poetic storytelling.

9. The Fragrant Chamber was full of people, most of them nobles and wealthy merchants. High-ranking members of the Sultansworn, and officers of the Brass Blades and Stone Torches also attended as guests instead of guards. - Debonair

Another FFXIV Write 2021, revised and republished on Ao3 in “Unexpected.” Another early encounter between Thancred and Aeryn during a party in Ul’dah, again using my revised ARR intro, and again leaving Aeryn wondering “is he flirting with me?” cuz she just can’t tell such things easily.

10. “You know once you do this, there’s no going back,” Father Comfraire said in his soft, quiet voice. - Aberrant

I’m putting the start of (the Tumblr version of) the Avengret storyarc here, as it wound its way through so many of my FFXIV Write 2021 posts unexpectedly, and is sitting in a 20k+ word draft in my files needing revision, shuffling around, addition, etc…During 2020’s FFXIV Write I got the random idea that Aeryn’s father was secretly a heretic and Alberic had faced him—then lied about it to protect the innocent Striker family. It’s spooled out from there since. I am going to get to this, I really need to. Who knows if this will stay the first line when I do, but it's what I get for procrastinating.

I seem to do a mix of scene setting and dialogue, or abstract comments that lead into more musing descriptions and exposition.

Tagging: Whoever wants to!