#alainaux revient

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 28: Deleterious

’I thought I should find you here, slinking about in the shadows,’ I said, sliding out of the aforesaid shadows myself.

I thought I glimpsed a flash of surprise in Emet-Selch’s eyes, but he recovered quickly. ’How delightfully ironic for you to accuse me of slinking around,’ he said. ’Did you abandon those companions of yours?’

’They can get on without me for a little while.’

’Didn’t one of them just fall down a well?’

’Y’shtola can look after herself, and if she can’t I certainly couldn’t help. It seems to me it’s you who can’t let them alone.’

Unlike most people, I found Emet-Selch immune to the force of my gaze. ’There’s no need to sound so accusing, dear boy,’ he said, quite imperturbably. ’I simply like to know what’s going on. It’s hard to plot and scheme effectively without that.’

I quite agreed with that, though I wouldn’t let him see it. ’And I presume it’s no good asking you what it is you’re plotting and scheming,’ I said. I didn’t think it very likely he would answer, but not entirely preposterous either; one of the few things I had succeeded in learning about him was that he liked to surprise people.

’Quite right. How quickly you learn! And I suppose that if I, in turn, were to pose you the same question, I’d get no answer either.’

I smiled, and truly meant it. ’You suppose right.’

’It was worth a try,’ said Emet-Selch, with perfect equanimity. ’And now that that’s all out of the way, perhaps we can dispense with this sniping, and enjoy the respite of this shade. Though even here, the light is quite scorching. But I suppose you enjoy that, being a Warrior of Light and all.’

’You’re not having much luck in your guesses today,’ I said, and derived no small satisfaction from the start he couldn’t quite conceal.

’Now there’s a surprise. I thought you quite the immaculate Warrior of Light.’

I turned my eyes to the great, cool canopy, and the splinters of light that had inevitably struck through. ’Oh, you have no idea.’

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 4: Reticent

The bandits were almost upon them. Sidurgu urged Rielle on, but she was already tiring. They were almost to the mouth of the valley when another group of bandits poured into the pass, blocking their escape. 

Sidurgu cursed. ‘Run away, Rielle,’ he said. ‘Hide behind those bushes. I’ll hold them here. I’ll—’ An unwise movement made the pain in his shoulder spike, and he groaned, fighting to stay on his feet.

Then a flash of light illuminated the valley, and the bandits were sent whirling into the air by what seemed to be a furious gust of wind. And yet not a leaf on the trees stirred; not a hair on Rielle’s head moved. 

A laugh boomed through the air, seeming to sound from everywhere and nowhere at once. Sidurgu and Rielle looked up. A figure reclined at ease above them in a comfortable armchair: robes of shimmering green silk swirled in the breeze, and his hair blew out behind him, the colour of jade. Around him whirled a circle of gigantic swords; they wheeled and soared at a gesture of his fingertip. 

A muffled ‘kupo!’ sounded in the background, and then a slightly bedraggled moogle popped his head out of the bags slung over the chair’s back. 

Sidurgu muttered something uncomplimentary about furry little shites, while Rielle came forward and made her best bow. ‘Thank you for the rescue,’ she said. ‘Might we ask your names?’  

The figure smiled lazily. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the swords. ‘I am no-one of import. A mere traveller, who happened to be passing.’

‘And the moogle?’ said Sidurgu.

‘I’m Kupopo, kupo!’

‘Kupopokupo?’ said Rielle.

‘Just Kupopo, kupo.’

‘Just so. We are fellow travellers, for so long as our paths lie in the same direction. Is that not so, Kupopo?’

‘I suppose it is,’ said Kupopo dubiously, ‘though, as I was saying, I’m not quite certain which direction we—’

‘And do all mere travellers possess the skills to blow away an entire company of bandits?’ Sidurgu demanded. ‘Or make travel companions of moogles?’ It was quite clear that he thought the latter offense far more inexcusable. ‘I don’t know what those furry menaces are plotting this time, but if you think to aid in their schemes—’

The moogle bristled, his fur fluffing out. ‘That’s quite uncalled for, kupo!’ 

‘Oh, don’t pay any attention to him,’ said Rielle. ‘He’s just grumpy about the bandits. You have fine fur, by the way.’

‘Why, thank you.’ The moogle fluffed up his fur in a pleased fashion, glowing a little from the praise. 

‘To return to the point,’ said Sidurgu, ‘we appreciate the rescue, but should you have evil designs, I’m not letting you go any further.’

The stranger regarded him with benevolent amusement. ‘Evil designs, you say? The stars move and the seasons change, and the waves turn to crystal in their motion. One day, a man shall be called evil, whether he intend it or not.’

‘How did you summon the wind?’ Rielle asked. ‘We couldn’t feel it, though it knocked the bandits away.’

The stranger seemed pleased to be asked. ‘A manipulation of aether, by which the force of one’s will may be rendered reality. An excellent observation; you’d make a fine pictomancer.’ 

‘A picto—what?’ said Sidurgu dubiously. ‘You’re not teaching Rielle more moogle arts. She knows quite enough already.’

The stranger smiled indulgently. ‘Be that as it may, we must be on our way. Kupopo, if you will resume your place. Pleasant travels to you!’

Rielle waved as the chair rose up into the air, and the traveller raised a hand in farewell. As the traveller receded from view, they heard Kupopo’s voice issuing from the bags. ‘And which way is that, kupo? As I’ve been saying, the map—’ 

The stranger's laugh filled the expansive sky. 'What are maps to rocks and mountains?'

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 23: On Cloud Nine

’Good-day to you, old friend,’ said the Wandering Minstrel. ’Anyone would think you were ill-pleased to see me.’

’Hardly,’ said Alainaux. ’I have been expecting it, from the odd flavour that the speech of the plains has taken on of late. Coined a new phrase, have you?’ 

’I take it you disapprove,’ said the Wandering Minstrel, ’as you do of all invention.’

’Not in the slightest,’ said Alainaux. ’A fascinating phrase, that succeeds admirably in expressing precisely nothing at all. And here I thought you disdained prevarication.’ 

The Wandering Minstrel grinned. ’High praise from you; of course you know better than poets and Skywatchers alike. It must torment you that the folk of the plains have taken with such enthusiasm to the phrase.’

’The folk of the plains may speak as they wish,’ said Alainaux. ’Fashions of speech come and go, and sometimes they are inflicted, like plague.’

’And yet words and songs have a way of persevering,’ said the Minstrel, ’though rocks and mountains crumble. It would be a pretty thing if folk still spoke of cloud nine, a hundred years hence.’

’You inflict your whims on their language with no compunction,’ said Alainaux. ’I would not believe such a thing of the plainsfolk. ’Twas a pretty thing to blame it on that Skywatcher you spoke with. She was not accustomed to the ways of poets; to how they break apart an utterance and discard its meaning, and weave it again into a phantasm that has no substance but sound, yet affects with a most slanderous solicitude to be science.’

’Careful,’ said the Wandering Minstrel, with great amusement. ’You’ll offend every musician in Eorzea.’

Alainaux snorted, and his chair soared up into the sky, disappearing from view amidst the aforementioned clouds. Despite the distance, his voice boomed down to the Wandering Minstrel with improbable clarity. ’I speak not of musicians, but of dabbling charlatans. I see the clouds from up here, and they are not as you describe.’

’Of course not,’ said the Wandering Minstrel, not troubling to raise his voice, for he knew Alainaux would hear. ’I sing of the clouds as seen from the land, which the townsfolk know but you could hardly comprehend, for you never pause so long as to admire them.’ 

’Fine words, from a man who flits like an ill wind  from predicament to contingency, stealing fame and evading notoriety, and always a little ahead of fate. What would you know of views from the land?’

’Fate does not trouble with poets like me,’ said the Minstrel, ’for you keep it most conveniently preoccupied. Now, as lofty as your station is, you might wish to come down before the tea grows cold.’

’The tea is not yet done steeping,’ said Alainaux, descending with great majesty and circumstance, ’nor will it be for another minute.’ His chair set down with beautiful precision at the table. ’Now it is done.’ 

The Minstrel waved a hand to the heavens with a proprietary air. ’A perfect interlude to admire those clouds you know so much of.’

Alainaux sipped his tea. ’Fine clouds, quite undeserving of a poet’s slander. And what, by your dictionary, do these clouds express?’

’Great happiness, of course.’

’Of course.’

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 9: Lend an Ear

The day’s bustling was done, and naught left to do but wait. Alainaux had had half a mind not to stay, but he had laboured long to set the fireworks in motion, and he could not deny a certain curiosity to see the results.

It was strange company Alainaux found himself in, but he was certain the party of the second part found it still stranger. Undoubtedly, passersby would think them a odd duo in their ill-matched raiment, neither belonging to Limsa Lominsa or to its port. They didn’t know the half of it.

The Wandering Minstrel was eyeing Alainaux with the peculiar expression the latter had come to expect. ”’Twas good of you to lend the Lominsans your ear,” he said, with an ingenuous smile that Alainaux distrusted. “This will be a Rising to remember.”

Alainaux made him a polite nod. “’Twas the least a stranger like me could do.”

“Do you call yourself a stranger?” said the minstrel, with an odd little laugh. “You have been here before, have you not?”

”Not in such circumstances as would alter that appellation,” said Alainaux. It was no falsehood. Though he had been here a dozen times, he would always be a stranger to this wind-blown city, nor would he have it otherwise.

His meetings with the minstrel through the years had been fortuitous and abrupt, fraught with possibilities that were rather too interesting. ‘Twas certain that the minstrel of the present day did not recollect the past, but all the same he had a nose for momentous happenings, and an unerring instinct for identifying the perpetrator of deeds Alainaux had no wish to claim. The latter had been inclined to flight at first, but he had grown resigned to the frequency of their meetings. The minstrel was as impossible to avoid as the weather, and Alainaux’s apprehensions had been relieved by his evident ignorance of the past.

But the minstrel was looking at him with an alarming familiarity; the product, perhaps, of their contemporary meetings.

“None of us are truly strangers to the Calamity, are we? We carry the memory of it with us in every moment, and it is a memory that unites us. Even those we do not remember—” He paused, with a glance at Alainaux, but Alainaux gave him no encouragement, so the minstrel went on. “This celebration is for the things we do not remember, as much as the things we do.”

“There is small joy in such a celebration,” said Alainaux. He had no desire to prolong the conversation. “People have plenty to be grieving in extant recollection.”

“And yet the destruction of the Calamity compassed so much more.”

“You speak as though you have griefs of your own.”

The minstrel smiled ruefully. ”Would that I did. When I was younger, I was overfond of the sound of my own lyre, and I missed many an opportunity to listen instead. I wish I had paid more mind to the world around me; to so much that is now lost, both stories and songs.” The minstrel gazed out to sea. The sky was beginning to darken; it would be time for the fireworks soon. ”The heroes of that world deserved to be heard; to have a song made of their deeds, that would ring across the world.”

”You would have forgotten,” said Alainaux drily.

The minstrel laughed. ”Likely I would, but I should like to have heard them, all the same. Songs have a way of living on, even when they’re forgotten.”

The minstrel was not so eager now to share his music; he did not often play to crowds, or seek to spread the music that he made. Before Carteneau, he had come to Alainaux with great eagerness, longing to talk and be listened to, to have his songs heard. He had found scant enthusiasm among those he approached; there was quite enough unease about, and no-one had the stomach for his talk of comings and calamities. Alainaux had not been welcoming either, but the minstrel had sought out his company with some tenacity, and he had grown accustomed to his meetings with him. After their first meeting, he had not seemed so eager to press his songs upon Alainaux’s ear; he had found plenty else to talk about, plenty of other diversions in his company.

Likely he had now forgotten the songs he had pressed upon his hearers then.

”Those the songs tell of are not so happily situated,” said Alainaux. ”And this world has its own songs.”

“Indeed,” said the minstrel, ”and its heroes. Wouldn’t you say the Warrior of Light deserves a song of their own?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Alainaux. “But they are not here.”

“A great pity,” said the minstrel, with another odd smile. ”One might say their presence would be fitting.”

Alainaux paid him no mind. Whatever the minstrel might insinuate, he was not the Warrior of Light; he was a traveller who had happened to be passing for some momentous events, circumstances that one of his powers could not well leave be. He was not this world’s hero, by temperament or inclination.

He did not remember Carteneau, though the memories came to him sometimes in flashes: the faces of the others, altered beyond recognition by terror. His own hand slipping from the cliff’s edge, as the rocks exploded around him. The ruin of the world, in a flash of light.

The sound of Hydaelyn’s voice, too late, in a paean of grief that split the sky.

There was a strange irony to his presence here, at this celebration for the dead, this symbol of hope to the living: he was one of those dead. He was not here for hope, or for sorrow. He didn’t know why he was here, why he’d chosen to linger in the city. Only that there was something fitting about it, that he should be here, the only person who could fill in the gaps of the city’s memory with his own jagged shards.

[worldoshaking]

ALAN INTRO ALAN INTRO introduce me to the bastard man >:3c

My beloved bastard man! <3

Alan was one of the Warriors of Light who fought to hold off the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He fell off a cliff at Carteneau and survived, and now he revels in the anonymity of no one remembering who he is. He chose the name Alainaux Revient as a little joke, since ’revient’ means ’returns’.

Now he is no famous hero, only a mysterious traveller with a propensity for showing up where things happen. He is exasperatingly wise, inexplicably powerful, and thoroughly unreliable. He travels around, and does not count any place his home, but he makes himself quite at home in any situation. Wherever he goes, he knows where to find news and company, and the best restaurants. No one knows where he’s from, or how old he is; such things are lost in the mists of antiquity, and he never talks of himself. There’s an ageless quality to him that leads people to suspect he might be immortal.

He has always had a complicated relationship to the Warrior of Light role. A very close personal relationship to Hydaelyn was clouded by distrust and disagreements, and eventually evolved into bitter ambivalence; they had a divorce of sorts before the Calamity, which led Alan to relinquish the Warrior of Light’s mantle, but at Carteneau he came back to fight with the others one last time.

Now he refuses to call himself a Warrior of Light, for he has lost all faith in the role, and has no desire to act as Hydaelyn’s champion. (I often see him as existing in a universe where there are other, more conventionally heroic Warriors of Light, whom Alan sometimes deigns to assist from the shadows.) He isn’t here to save the world, for he has learned to distrust such high-handed ambitions; he acts by his whims and a capricious sense of poetic justice, and frequently out of spite. (He knew Lahabrea well of old, and did not like him the better for it.)

It’s in Shadowbringers that he is forced to step into public view and assume the mantle of the Warrior of Darkness, and there’s an irony to it that amuses him. His encounter with Emet-Selch is a strange meeting of two not dissimilar people, even if their aims are opposite. Alan might oppose Emet-Selch, but he understands him: his distrust and his alienation, his ruthlessness, his inability to relinquish hope.

The Wandering Minstrel knew Alan before Carteneau (at the time when Alan was stepping away from the WoL’s role, and the world was engulfed by misgivings and unease). At the time, they had a dalliance of sorts, though they were divided by the world falling into chaos. Before Carteneau, they parted on complicated but amicable terms to do their duties, knowing that they would likely never meet again. The Minstrel has now forgotten Alan’s former identity, but he does have his suspicions about why he feels so familiar.

(Endwalker spoilers under the cut)

In Endwalker, Alan finally revisits his relationship to Hydaelyn/Venat, and there’s a reconciliation of sorts. He hasn’t exactly forgiven her her old missteps, but he understands better now. (That is, until she tricks him into killing her. He’ll never forgive her that, even if she doesn’t stay dead.)

[worldoshaking]

Buscarron set down the glass he was polishing with a frown. ’Back again, Alainaux Revient? Did I not say you were barred for good from Buscarron’s Druthers?’

Alainaux seated himself at the bar. ’I did not know the hospitable Buscarron was in the habit of turning away his patrons.’

’My friend, you are no habit, but a phenomenon all your own.’

’Now there’s a compliment. What have I done to be thus singled out?’

’You know well of what I speak. We are even yet repairing the furniture after the quarrel your last visit occasioned.’

A faint smile touched Alainaux’s lips. ’I was not even present for the brawl you speak of.’

’Nay, you set the whole room a-brawling, and paid your bill and took off into the air again, as cool as you please. Just as you do every time you visit.’

’Their depradations had naught to do with me,’ said Alainaux. ’I’m hardly to blame for the rest of your clientele.’

Buscarron snorted, and set to polishing the bar with great energy. ’A likely story! We’re accustomed to rows and such out here, but I’ve never seen the like of what you stirred up.’

’Be that as it may,’ said Alainaux, ’the night is young, and I see no-one here yet. I have travelled long malms and my throat is parched. Would the Buscarron I know turn a thirsty traveller out into the woods?’

’Very well,’ said Buscarron, in a resigned tone. ’But we’ll have none of your wranglings and philosophisings, do you hear?’

Alainaux looked amused. ’I give you my word.’

Buscarron set down his polishing-cloth and seated himself. ’At any rate,’ he said, ’not once other people come in. I’ll not deny I’ve had a hankering to hear your tales again myself.’

’And I, to tell them to an old friend.’

[worldoshaking]

alan is definitely doing arcadion in the showiest and most annoying way, in the time-honoured spirit of ’how can i cause the most problems for as many people as possible’

you hear his booming laugh all over the arena before you see him and finally you see him sitting high up on the arena lights. he won’t come down at first (he’s technically in the ring) and he keeps chipping away at opponents with excruciatingly inefficient ranged attacks while he taunts them from an inconvenient distance. his aim is devastatingly good. he keeps his opponents running

eventually he decides he approves of yaana so he comes down to fight her properly. he and yaana actually end up friends after the fight. he puts on his most indulgent shizun airs and surreptitiously teaches her a lot while holding fast to his ’i’m not a teacher’ pose. he also submits with equanimity to yaana bossing him around

on the other hand he is Not braving honey’s venom. he is decisively finishing the fight and Out Of There as soon as he can be. this is the rare occasion it’s in character for him to do the undignified m!elezen sprint

he quite likes brute bomber but that takes the form of being even more annoying in the fight against him

he and metem have an ongoing prickly friendship where alan makes things as inconvenient for metem’s showmanship as possible (moves too fast to catch, perching comfortably out of the cameras’ reach, etc) and metem retaliates by taking potshots at him in the commentary whenever he gets a chance. picture alan muttering ’this is not an error this is STRATEGY but of course his cheap showmanship can’t comprehend that’ as he dodges aoes

when it comes to fighting eutrope he is genuinely quite intrigued and decides to meet her where she’s at. he understands exploitative workplace practices (he side-eyes hydaelyn here) and he also understands making unwise decisions for enhanced powers. he’s like i don’t need a feral soul i’m worse -activates his deeply horrifying sin eater transformation-

[worldoshaking]

for the oc asks, 16 and 21 for fyf, then 9 and 10 for alan bc i think that might be funny :3c

I’ll come back to answer the Fyf ones but here’s Alan first :D

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

Alan is extremely punctilious about having the best work-life balance in Eorzea. He will stay up for no-one, and he sleeps his allotted hours with tranquil regularity, waking up before dawn very comfortably as a matter of course. He knows the best foods in every location and every season. He guards his leisure jealously, and is very firm about what tasks he will take on. Yes, he’ll save the world, but he’s not sacrificing his time off, thank you very much.

He is not employed or contracted with anyone in the long term. He is his own master, and in that capacity he allots himself all the leisure he needs. If he’s indispensable, he will have union work conditions for it.

He’s been prone to migraines in the past, and has grown extremely adept at dodging his migraine triggers. At the first hint that someone’s about to uncork a bottle of perfume, he’ll be in the next town before they can get it open. When his enemies are unnecessarily flashy with their attacks, he averts his eyes without a second thought; he doesn’t need to look to annihilate them.

A reason for his firmness, if one is needed, may be found in the past: he did burn out once when the world most needed him, and he is very firmly resolved not to open himself up to that possibility again. He faced down the Seventh Umbral Calamity sleep-deprived, worn out, newly divorced, plagued by migraines, and beset by seasonal depression from the calamitous weather, and it was decidedly not a profitable experience, even before he fell off the cliff. Given that said occasion came to be known as the Seventh Umbral Calamity, the results did not vindicate his sacrifices.

*

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

Alan’s method of dealing with his mental health is to promptly remove himself from his present circumstances when confronted with any distress.

Hydaelyn told him often to hear, feel and think, and he has found great profit in doing the opposite whenever he can. A philosophy that serves him better has been succinctly, if crudely, summed up by the Wandering Minstrel as ’Just walk out! You can leave!’ This applies to umbral calamities, meetings with City Leaders, an inconvenient attachment to the goddess who plagues him with visions, and inclement weather.

(Somehow he was inveigled into the Eorzeans’ peace talks with Varis, and the world witnessed how well that went: four Scions and himself summoned very inexpertly to another world, and an escalation of hostilities that nearly brought about another calamity in the meantime. This corroborated his opinion that all meetings were to be avoided, or at best replaced by moogle post, which he takes great pleasure in making himself inaccessible to.)

If the expedient of a quick egress fails to enliven his mood, he’ll amuse himself by beginning an inconsequential argument, or causing problems for someone else. That usually lifts his spirits.

If one must use such a phrase (and no doubt the Wandering Minstrel would), that counts as taking care of himself, does it not?

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 20: Duel

‘...Or rather I would, though I doubt any of your latest exploits will suffice. Not to belittle them, but what I seek are stories of only the greatest and grandest battles. Even the most skilled minstrel will struggle to entertain an audience with tales of everyday do-goodery,’ said the Minstreling Wanderer, as he insisted on calling himself, with great complacency. Despite his protestations, he evidently suffered from no lack of eloquence on the subject. 

Alainaux snorted. ‘Is that so, stranger? You presume I’ve been doing good, do you?’ 

‘What could a hero do but good?’ said the Minstreling Wanderer, looking charmingly ingenuous.

‘Many things,’ said Alainaux. ‘With such a limited imagination, I suspect your struggle to entertain your audiences might not be the fault of your subjects, or even of your rhymes.’

‘Oh, but I haven’t been struggling,’ said the Minstreling Wanderer. ‘My song of your last duel met with a most gratifying reception, and is still being sung across the length and breadth of Norvrandt.’

‘More’s the pity, given those rhymes,’ said Alainaux. ‘But I see the fame has not sufficed, for here you are, seeking me out again at ever shorter intervals.’

‘A minstrel may not rest on his successes, my friend,’ said the Minstreling Wanderer, though Alainaux could think of no reason he would address him as such. ‘I cannot live on the echoes of past glory, on songs that have long left their maker’s name behind.’ He smirked. ‘Minstrels are rather like heroes in that respect.’ 

Alainaux snorted again. Even when he was pretending to be someone else, the Minstrel could not refrain from his dreadful attempts at wit. ‘How fortunate, then, that I am a sinner,’ he said, ‘for sins live forever, I’m told.’

He had no objection to this Minstrel’s insistence that they were strangers, even if it was an unoriginal pretence. It amused him considerably to observe that the Minstrel was borrowing his stratagems as well as his stories. And it was an entertaining turn of events; under the circumstances, the Minstrel could hardly act wise and knowing about his, Alainaux’s, past. (That the Minstrel should succeed in entertaining him was certainly no frequent occurrence.)

They smiled at each other, alone in the middle of the city, with their eyes sharp and their secrets sheathed.

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 16: Third-rate

‘You are an unexpected spectator here, my friend,’ said the Wandering Minstrel, settling into a chair and wiping his brow. ‘But gratifying, of course. And what is your opinion of my latest verse? Oh, a cup of tea. How kind.’ He poured himself a cup. 

Alainaux took a sip of his tea. The steam floated away on the breeze, like the leaves of yesterday, but his chair, reclining a yalm above the ground, was as immobile as the clouds. ’Your verse is trite as always,’ he said. ’It commits the most grievous atrocities of style and form. But its worst flaw is that you crowd too much into it; you are adamant in cramming an epic into every verse, and too preoccupied with telling the audience they must be impressed to have any room left to impress them.’

The Wandering Minstrel laughed, and took a sip of his tea in turn. ’Meanwhile your verse, my friend, is committed to saying nothing at all, to getting so lost in the intricacies of its own wit that it forgets it is a poem.’

‘There, you see?’ said Alainaux, regarding him with amusement. ‘Even that was a better poem than the one you just read. It’s verse, not a public announcement. If you have things to say, you’d best turn town crier, and declaim them in the square.’

The minister’s smile broadened. ‘As you did in Gridania the other night?’ He held up a beautifully illuminated manuscript. ‘I hear you are famous once again.’

On a misty evening, Alainaux had had an encounter with an earnest youth near Fullflower Comb. Finding him quite conversible, he had paused to speak the lines that came to him amidst the bright dew and the looming trees. 

He sighed. Evidently the youth had recalled the verse, and transcribed it, or spoken it to others. Such things had a way of happening to him; he was always encountering passing scholars, and illuminators, and merchants eager for new tales to tell on their travels. He travelled light and swift, but renown had a way of finding him; he was always hearing his own verse at inns and libraries and forums. He had even had to duel an apparition of his own writing on his visit to the Great Gubal Library. 

‘Officious travellers,’ he said. ‘’Twas a passing reflection, nothing more.’

The Wandering Minstrel’s smile was now definitely a smirk. ‘And do all passing reflections bear all the hallmarks of a learned poet’s style, set out with perfection and elegance? It would have been a perfect poem in the traditional style, if it weren’t for that flourish of sentiment to the end. Rather unlike you, that.’ 

‘And yet you identified it without a doubt as mine,’ said Alainaux. ‘I did not know you were such a dedicated scholar of my verse.’

‘Of course I did,’ said the Wandering Minstrel, without a trace of shame. ‘It was unmistakeably yours, from start to finish.’

‘What do you do when you aren’t composing atrocious verse, or admiring my flourishes of sentiment?’ Alainaux asked. 

The Wandering Minstrel inclined his head, amused. ‘Converse with great scholars and poets, evidently. Or heroes, should they happen to be passing.’

‘A rare occurrence, no doubt.’

‘Quite.’

[worldoshaking]

I love thinking about Alan and G’raha’s relationship because it’s right at the heart of the narrative for both of them. They have one of the most profound understandings of any two characters in the story, but for the greater part of the story, they also don’t like each other. They are both people who turn from abandoned pasts, and move easily from one identity to another, without looking back. And so they understand each other a little too well.

In Shadowbringers, Alan learns, for the Exarch tells him, that he was the driving force behind all the events of the past hundred years: the Exarch did it all for him, or the memory of him. But he had no say in it, and the Exarch’s actions are not something he’s inclined to accept or acknowledge. The Exarch is high-handed and secretive and selfish, eager to assume responsibility for the fate of the world: all the things Alan hates. The Exarch in turn recognises the rejection, and it does not trouble him, since he has never sought reciprocation or acknowledgement.

Alan suspects the Exarch’s sacrificial plan before he sees it in action, and he goes along with it, but it only deepens his dislike.

After they defeat Hades, he meets G’raha’s eyes momentarily, in one wounded, ragged look. There’s fellowship in it, and understanding, both things Alan has no desire for. He hates G’raha and that look of despair in his eyes that so perfectly mirrors his own. He thinks he could fall into his arms at this moment.

He doesn’t fall into G’raha’s arms, but they go back to the Crystarium together, and somehow make it through the festivities. G’raha doesn’t look at him, but he makes it easier for Alan to get away. For the first time, Alan is grateful to him.

In 5.3, still disapproving of him, Alan nevertheless does everything he can to save the Exarch’s soul; it is a debt owed. On the Source, he goes to the Crystal Tower alone, and sits quietly as G’raha struggles with his soul, grounding him by his presence and his silence. He does not speak to him as he carries him back. At the Rising Stones, he stays long enough to see him revived and safely cared for, and then slips silently away so he doesn’t have to hear his thanks.

*

As they go through Endwalker, Alan watches G’raha do all the things he himself refuses to do: taking charge, offering reassurance, daring to hope. He himself renounced all such things since his rupture with Hydaelyn; he does not consider himself qualified to offer counsel, and distrusts anyone who does. All the same, he watches G’raha, and he knows that he is no charlatan. He has come to understand G’raha better, to know that he is capable of the tasks he undertakes. He still does not like him, but he’s able to turn away and let G’raha do his part without needing to worry if he’ll accomplish it. He scorns G’raha’s radiant idealism, but he also knows that G’raha never makes a promise in vain.

G’raha is the only person to know what killing Hydaelyn means to Alan. He does not speak of it, but Alan sees it in the quick look that G’raha gives him, before he leads the others away and lets Alan mourn in peace. In that moment, Alan is more grateful to G’raha than he’s ever been in his life.

At Ultima Thule, Alan refuses G’raha his promise, and reproaches him more openly than he ever has before: for making this decision regardless of the others, for forcing Alan, once again, to be the person who mourns him, who must carry the tale back and make something tidy and presentable of it. He says: ‘I will not bear the burden of your legacy. I will not tidy up your loose ends, and spin the ragged wound of your sacrifice into a pretty tale. If you’re going to abandon us again, I’ll have you do it honestly.’

Then G’raha looks at him again as he did when they spoke on the First, as he never has before or since. Alan knows that he will do it, and he knows that G’raha trusts him, whatever he might say.

He wonders if they’ll ever actually visit Ishgard.

*

Once they return, they never talk about it. But when Alan encounters Aymeric, he speaks to him, and manufactures an errand for him and G’raha at the Holy See. He doesn’t have much else in common with G’raha, but he keeps his promises. They don’t do much in the way of sightseeing, but he does show G’raha the Vault. He doesn’t have to explain; G’raha has read chronicles that no doubt told the tale better than he would.

(Aymeric rather defers to Alan; the only thing that keeps him from being outright afraid is Aymeric’s strong sense of humour. He was young when Alan visited Ishgard in the wake of the last Calamity, and set off a long-standing schism in the church that exists to this day. The Ishgardian clergy have been arguing about the question Alan raised for several decades now; the Dragonsong War made no difference in this regard.)

Alan and G’raha do talk, once, when Alan is considering Wuk Lamat’s proposal. When G’raha urges him to go, he speaks more personally, with more warmth, than he ordinarily does, looking at him with a smile that declares his admiration undiminished. It’s curious, Alan reflects, how G’raha can only be honest when he’s pushing him away.

(Alan is inclined to take the job for a less high-minded reason. After the events of Eorzea, too many people recognise him in Sharlayan, and in most of Eorzea. They are rather too apt to lionise him as a hero, and call upon his authority. He finds it most expedient to get away somewhere he isn’t so well-known.)

He isn’t at all surprised when G’raha declares his intention to stay behind, but he does dart a little secret glance at him. He knows exactly what he’s feeling. He offers him no remonstrance or commiseration; he knows it would do no good.

*

Alan likes Tural, but he holds himself peculiarly unfitted to be in Wuk Lamat’s entourage. He respects her commitment to her ideals, but he does not do things that way himself. He also has a sharp eye for the political realities underlying all this talk of friendship (particularly the extent of Gulool Ja Ja’s power and its implications), and he struggles to bring them to Wuk Lamat’s attention without dampening her idealism. Altogether, he’s vaguely uncomfortable being here, and he keeps dashing off to do other things and get into entertaining entanglements with Urianger and Thancred.

All the while, he thinks G’raha would have been much better at this.

(He distrusts Gulool Ja Ja from the start, and suspects a good deal that is later proven right. He also thinks he could be friends with him; they almost are. He reflects wryly that it is his lot to be entangled with leaders. Of all the leaders he’s known, G’raha’s the only one who was truly honest. There’s an amusing irony in that.)

*

He is a little relieved when G’raha joins them in Tuliyollal. After the conference in the throne room, G’raha hangs back a moment to speak to him before he hurries away. They do not speak of anything important, but it is easy to meet G’raha’s glance in the midst of this grieving city. G’raha is no stranger to grief, and it does not make him transform or withdraw; he is entirely, reassuringly himself.

They find themselves in the gondola in Living Memory, and Alan looks at G’raha, and sees the truth in what G’raha says. He has never burned the world down for anyone, and nor has G’raha, but more to the point, Alan hasn’t wanted to. He has always walked away from the people he loved, because he couldn’t burn down the world for them, even when they were alive. Hydaelyn is dead now, and all he feels is a hollow where his grief should be. She knew that she could force him to do it, and damn her, she was right.

G’raha has done the things he’s done for many people, and many reasons. But still, it astonishes Alan that G’raha ever saw anything to admire in him; that G’raha did things in his memory that he could never have done himself.

Living Memory is an excruciating ordeal to Alan (it reminds him far too much of Hydaelyn), and Alexandria gives him migraines, but afterwards, they return to Tuliyollal and its breezes. Alan and G’raha walk to the For’rard Cabins, and barely say a word as they walk. But when they pass Alan’s door, Alan extends a hand, inviting G’raha in before him.

[worldoshaking]

i think Hydaelyn calls Alan ’my dear’ and Emet-Selch calls him his ’dear boy.’ Alan and Lahabrea had a selection of opprobrious nicknames for each other, and it was only in Pandaemonium that they first called each other by name. Before the Camamity, the Wandering Minstrel called him ’hero,’ but now he addresses him as ’my friend’ or ’old friend’

[worldoshaking]

he’s been here all along! <3

ALAN INTRO ALAN INTRO introduce me to the bastard man >:3c

My beloved bastard man! <3

Alan was one of the Warriors of Light who fought to hold off the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He fell off a cliff at Carteneau and survived, and now he revels in the anonymity of no one remembering who he is. He chose the name Alainaux Revient as a little joke, since ’revient’ means ’returns’.

Now he is no famous hero, only a mysterious traveller with a propensity for showing up where things happen. He is exasperatingly wise, inexplicably powerful, and thoroughly unreliable. He travels around, and does not count any place his home, but he makes himself quite at home in any situation. Wherever he goes, he knows where to find news and company, and the best restaurants. No one knows where he’s from, or how old he is; such things are lost in the mists of antiquity, and he never talks of himself. There’s an ageless quality to him that leads people to suspect he might be immortal.

He has always had a complicated relationship to the Warrior of Light role. A very close personal relationship to Hydaelyn was clouded by distrust and disagreements, and eventually evolved into bitter ambivalence; they had a divorce of sorts before the Calamity, which led Alan to relinquish the Warrior of Light’s mantle, but at Carteneau he came back to fight with the others one last time.

Now he refuses to call himself a Warrior of Light, for he has lost all faith in the role, and has no desire to act as Hydaelyn’s champion. (I often see him as existing in a universe where there are other, more conventionally heroic Warriors of Light, whom Alan sometimes deigns to assist from the shadows.) He isn’t here to save the world, for he has learned to distrust such high-handed ambitions; he acts by his whims and a capricious sense of poetic justice, and frequently out of spite. (He knew Lahabrea well of old, and did not like him the better for it.)

It’s in Shadowbringers that he is forced to step into public view and assume the mantle of the Warrior of Darkness, and there’s an irony to it that amuses him. His encounter with Emet-Selch is a strange meeting of two not dissimilar people, even if their aims are opposite. Alan might oppose Emet-Selch, but he understands him: his distrust and his alienation, his ruthlessness, his inability to relinquish hope.

The Wandering Minstrel knew Alan before Carteneau (at the time when Alan was stepping away from the WoL’s role, and the world was engulfed by misgivings and unease). At the time, they had a dalliance of sorts, though they were divided by the world falling into chaos. Before Carteneau, they parted on complicated but amicable terms to do their duties, knowing that they would likely never meet again. The Minstrel has now forgotten Alan’s former identity, but he does have his suspicions about why he feels so familiar.

(Endwalker spoilers under the cut)

In Endwalker, Alan finally revisits his relationship to Hydaelyn/Venat, and there’s a reconciliation of sorts. He hasn’t exactly forgiven her her old missteps, but he understands better now. (That is, until she tricks him into killing her. He’ll never forgive her that, even if she doesn’t stay dead.)