#also the exarch's little ''i am not in the habit of pointing them at my enemies like a weapon''

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

oh emet-selch did nnnnNOT just passive-aggressively tell the exarch to try taking a nap

[ahlis-xiv]

journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]

[sami-at-ciela]

Prompt 14: Commend

Or: “tfw the entire Crystarium now ships WoL/Exarch”

Spicy take: sometimes I headcanon G’raha with a bit of a tum because A. surely you know scholarly types and their whacked-out eating habits and B. it’s cute, leemee malone.

The “aetherfat” joke, uhhh... I think I explained it in the story but basically the WoL becomes a frigging aetheric Mr. Creosote after that 4th Lightwarden. I’m being unabashedly terrible today.

Our favorite Weird Animal Duo shows up here too (and everything is their fault today).

Generic Shadowbringers spoilers warning because this is plot-vacuumed.

Rhea found herself in the Crystarium markets once more, except this run was different from usual.

Shopkeepers were calling her over left and right, offering her reduced prices and 2-for-1 specials on just about everything. However, ‘everything’ pertained mostly to foodstuffs and the occasional wardrobe piece for some reason.

When a certain shopkeeper thrusted a rather large box of chocolates at her, said they came “highly recommended,” and finished the exchange off with a wink, that was the last straw.

She barged into the Ocular with her rather large haul in tow, sparing the Exarch not even a single second to compose himself. “Did you seriously use your clout to get me discounts on every kind of food in the markets?”

It turned out that G’raha needed that second. “I’m sorry, what?”

“G’raha, hon, if you wanted another date night, you could have just told me instead of making the shopkeepers do a wink-wink-nudge-nudge at me,” Rhea grumbled as she set the bags down.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” G’raha said, gradually becoming more flustered. “If they did decide to do that, they did it of their own volition, most likely as a celebration of your victory.”

“No way, this was like they knew what we get up to,” Rhea said as she shook her head. “Either you whispered words in the right ears or someone else blabbed.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything!” G’raha’s flustering was turning into frustration. “If I had to guess, I’d say Alisaie is a likely culprit, since you occasionally inform her of our affairs.”

“Please. She’s invested, but she’s not a gossip.” Rhea sighed, finally accepting the Exarch’s innocence and not wanting to launch a whole investigation at that moment. “Fine. I guess we can just take this as a token of the people’s generosity. The people of the Crystarium are like that, anyway.”

“They are,” G’raha said, finally relaxing. He approached Rhea to survey her haul, peeking inside the bags. “There’s enough here for several ‘date nights,’” he murmured.

“I guess we’re taking a weekend off at some point?” Rhea suggested.

“I’d be in favor of that,” G’raha said, tilting his head. “At least we don’t have to worry about the ‘aetherfat’ getting in the way, hmm?”

Rhea snorted at the mention of the old joke. “Yeah, I fixed that! My aether is no longer morbidly obese from eating Lightwardens. You, on the other hand...” A sly smile spread across her face as she gave G’raha’s tummy a poke.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” G’raha asked, giving Rhea’s poking finger a pointed stare.

Rhea sighed and pulled G’raha in for a hug and a squeeze. “It’s all right. As much as you grumble about not wanting to be interrupted, I can tell you feel better when I feed you.”

“That’s not an answer- wait, are you calling me fat?” G’raha was mollified by the contact until he wasn’t.

Rhea just giggled and mashed G’raha’s head into her bosom. “No, I just know you like to eat and it’s cute.”

G’raha squirmed and made various grouchy noises in Rhea’s hold as his face blushed progressively pinker, but Rhea held on and gave him a scritch behind the ears for good measure. I think I finally spoiled him into enjoying being cared for, she mused.

Meanwhile, a suspicious “Gwee-hee-hee!” rang out somewhere in the distance.

“Man, she got so much swag!” Sparki said. “And the best of it, too!” Beans’s beady eyes seemed to sparkle. “I do hope she will build a fantastic nest!”

Sparki gave the Serpent of Ronka an affectionate squish with one foot. “You are such a romantic and it’s adorable.”

“Unhand me, knave! I am the night!” Beans proclaimed until Sparki finally did so. “I also hope that the people of the marketplace genuinely wished to support their leader and hero in their affairs and not just turn a profit.”

“Meh, the people of the Crystarium are better than that,” Sparki said. “I mean, why not both? But seriously, if you looked at those people hawking the sales and bonuses? They shipped it.”

“Shipped it?”

“They wholeheartedly supported the relationship between their dear Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness,” Sparki explained. “After the complete and utter poop that happened after the last Lightwarden, they deserve it.”

“Aye, they do.” A beat passed, and Beans added, “I do know some ancient fertility rituals-”

“Gods, Beans, let them have some time to enjoy each other’s company without a ‘clutch’ of babies in the way!” Sparki gave Beans another squish for good measure. “For what it’s worth, after our little suggestions, I’m sure they will.”

The discussion was interrupted when some small child pointed at Sparki and said, “Look, mommy, the little amaro has a beard!”

“Time to scram- er, gwee gwee!” Sparki scuttled out of the area with a quickness, rolling Beans along as she did so.

[autumnslance]

((Shadowbringers 5.3-5.4. I wanted to have this done by the 15th of January but didn’t quite manage it because these two idiots are wordy as heck, and I initially started in the wrong place and POV. I wrote roughly 8000 words total and only ended up using half of them. There are letters and pining and admitting things happening here.

Below the cut as usual for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3, but the formatting may work better on that site.))

Aeryn stepped through the mirror and into the familiar space of the Ocular, taking a moment to reorient herself after the rush of journeying between worlds. Once the vertigo had passed she left the Tower, the Crystarium guards greeting her as she crossed the Exedra. It took some questioning before she was finally pointed to where Ryne was currently; training with Captain Lyna just outside the city gates.

She simply watched for a time as Lyna tried to keep her distance while Ryne tried to close in. Aeryn did not announce herself, simply noting how Ryne’s bladework had improved, at least one new trick learned since the last time Aeryn had watched her fight.

“That is enough for now,” Lyna said as they reached a breakpoint in their dance. “And the Warrior of Darkness has waited long enough,” she continued with a wry smile in Aeryn’s direction.

Ryne started, then turned with a grin, hurrying over to give Aeryn a hug. “It’s good to see you! Oh sorry, I’m all sweaty…”

Aeryn laughed, brushing damp strands of hair from Ryne’s reddened face. It was still winter in Eorzea, but in Norvrandt spring was on the horizon and the morning was warm. “Not to worry. Hope you don’t mind the interruption.”

Lyna waved them off. “Go on; we can catch up later.”

Aeryn nodded, knowing the captain wanted word of her grandfather, and G’raha had given Aeryn a small package to deliver, but that would wait until Lyna was off duty and had readied herself. There was an order to such things with the stoic woman.

Instead, Aeryn turned back to Ryne and smiled. Had she gotten taller? “I have a question, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Of course!” Ryne answered as they walked across the bridge into the city. “What is it you need?”

“I have a note from Thancred; he and Urianger are currently on a mission, but he left me instructions for tod--well. The day it is back on the Source.”

“I see. What are the instructions?”

“I’m to ask you about the black willow box he kept in his room here.”

Ryne paused, a little sharp breath escaping. “Ryne?” Aeryn asked.

“Sorry! It’s just I was under strict instruction never to open the box, though I have the key now, of course; I still didn’t dare. It’s where he kept,” she hesitated.

“Kept what?”

“I’ll show you; it’s a good thing--I think--that he wants you to see. Come on!” Ryne dashed toward her apartment as if she hadn’t just completed a long practice session with the captain of the guard. Aeryn picked up her own pace to follow along after.

It did not take long for them to reach the apartment Ryne used to share with Thancred. As the girl opened the door, Aeryn realized it was the first time she had returned to these rooms since the Scions’ departure from the First. It was much as she remembered, though lacking Thancred’s continued presence. Evidence of Gaia’s frequent visits were visible instead, from lipstick-stained coffee mugs at the sink to dark ribbons left on an end table to a book that did not seem to be to Ryne’s taste on a sofa cushion.

Ryne paused in front of the door that had led to Thancred’s small room. “I haven’t been in here since,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Gaia and Taynor sorted most of it, actually, so only a few personal things remain. I should probably move to a smaller suite to let someone else use the space…”

“Maybe you need a roommate,” Aeryn suggested. “Perhaps Gaia could stay with you.”

Ryne reddened. “We’ve considered it, but I’m just…” She gave a helpless little laugh as she shrugged, looking up at Aeryn apologetically. “I’m just not quite ready, I think. It’s silly, but there’s a part of me that keeps hoping they’ll find a way--a safe way--to return. Even just for a little while.”

Aeryn squeezed Ryne’s shoulder. “It’s not silly,” she said quietly. “And I keep hoping that, too. Fairly certain Y’shtola has it at the top of her projects list.”

Ryne laughed, truly this time. “She would!” She looked at the door again. “The box should be on the shelf above the writing desk,” she offered Aeryn a small key. “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Aeryn nodded, taking the little key and entering the room.

It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. Always small, it had kept from being cramped mainly by virtue of Thancred’s own minimalist tendencies with his added reluctance of accumulating things on the First that he would have to leave behind in the end. Even so, the room felt barren, many necessities and items missing, given away to be used by others in need among the Crystarium’s residents; naught went to waste while still usable.

The bed was neatly made; her eyes lingered for a moment, recalling a handful of pleasant times curled up together in it. They had often met in her own chambers for privacy, especially when feeling the need for more than simple closeness. There was a bench under the shuttered window; he used to clean his gunblade there, storing materials and parts in a chest beneath the bench. Nothing remained but the seat.

The writing desk was really a tall square table, a stool for the chair, in a corner of the room. Two simple shelves hung on the wall above it, some of Thancred’s personal effects that remained neatly placed upon them. The black willow box was a simple but lovely piece of old Nabaath make. It was familiar only in that it was a part of the room, always upon the shelf above the desk, a background decoration.

She had to stretch a little to pull the small box down. She unlocked it, pondering what it could contain for one last moment before opening the lid to find out.

Neatly folded pages, Thancred’s familiar handwriting covering them, five different bundles marked by Vrandtic dates in Eorzean lettering. The earliest one was dated five--no, six years ago now, in the midst of Thancred’s first year in this world, just after the Vrandtic new year. The second bundle was dated a year later. Then the third, then a fourth. The final bundle broke the date pattern, written...She shivered. The dates would have been the time after they assaulted Mt Gulg and before seeking Emet-Selch and the Exarch in the Tempest, when she had lain in a Light-induced fever for days in between.

All of the letters, long and detailed, were addressed to her.

Aeryn carried the box to the window and opened the shutters, letting in the natural light of day. She sat at the bench, picked up the first letter, and began to read, brows already rising at the first line.

My Dear Aeryn,

It’s been roughly half a year, to me, since I arrived in this world. We search for a means to send me back, but given the dangers, it’s difficult to say if we shall ever be successful. I hold onto hope, given we have made the impossible happen more than once—particularly when you are involved.

I know so much less time is passing for you, even as time is difficult to track beneath the eternal Light, but the people still mark the hours and days as best they can--perhaps better than we do in the Source, reliant as we are upon the sun and stars. So as the calendar year turns to a new page, I find myself confronted by reminders of you at every turn, my own mind noting the dates, as if counting down to your nameday in truth.

Violas grown in the Hortorium call to mind your favored hair decoration and your scents carried with it. The heather meadows and clear mountain springs of Il Mheg make me think of the taste of your magic. Treasure hunters in Mord Souq unearth duelist rapiers reminiscent of your combat style. The grey waters of a lake, shifting in color and tone under the burning sky, remind me of your eyes and ever-shifting moods.

I think of our new situation, how fragile it all still seems, our duties as Scions, the distance between Ala Mhigo and Doma keeping us apart more often than I liked. Especially after already having denied my own interests for far longer than I care to admit.

I fear now, not knowing when I may return to your side--in whatever capacity--that I am forgetting important things, and I very much do not want to. So indulge me as I list your various qualities that I admire, to remind myself why I allowed myself to maintain my impossible infatuation for so long, even as you became one of my dearest friends...

Aeryn eyes widened as she turned to the next page, then quickly checked the several pages following; Thancred had indulged his bardic habits, writing in verse and engaging in wordplay. Even the most innocent descriptions and memories of moments together, professional and extremely personal, were laden with puns and innuendo--not entirely unexpected from him.

She was mostly through the verses, trying to parse every dedicated line, when a knock at the door startled her.

“Aeryn?” Gaia called. “Everything all right?”

She cleared her throat. “Fine; I’ve quite a bit of reading to do, though; I may need some water.”

The door opened, Gaia appearing with a tray already in hand. “Ryne thought you might--are you all right? You’re redder than I have ever seen, and that’s saying something.”

Aeryn pressed a hand to her warm cheeks. “I’m fine. Just...wasn’t expecting some of what I found so far.”

“Is that good or bad?” The girl asked, setting the tray on the nearby side table in easy reach. There was a small tea service and also ice water, bless them. 

“It’s...Better than good,” Aeryn replied. “I may be awhile, though.”

Gaia shrugged in her nonchalant, pretending-not-to-care way. “Doesn't matter to me, but I was going to drag Ryne out for a while, just so you know. You’ll be fine here by yourself--won’t you?” A little genuine care came through in the last two words, despite her attempts to seem otherwise.

Aeryn nodded.

“All right. Enjoy your reading, and we’ll see you later.” Gaia gave a little wave before leaving, quietly closing the door behind her.

Aeryn cleared her throat again, sipping the cup of minty green tea--bless those girls again--and set the first letter aside for now. She would get back to that later; alone in her own room, where she could bury her face in a pillow and shriek like a schoolgirl when overwhelmed by his words, godsdamn him. For now, the second bundle had her curious.

My Dearest Aeryn,

I almost let the date slip by, I am ashamed to say. So much has happened in recent weeks...

She read through two pages of his recounting Minfilia’s story and the reincarnations that had followed, offering a small hope to Norvrandt; of Urianger and Y’shtola’s arrival, his anger at the spell’s failure and yet relief at seeing Urianger again; and their shift in focus upon learning of the Eighth Umbral Calamity.

...Urianger’s vision of the Calamity, of our deaths, is a sobering thought. The idea of you fallen especially freezes my blood. I cannot bear the thought.

So I redoubled my efforts to rescue the girl bearing Minfilia’s name and appearance. She sleeps now on a cot in this Mord town as I write. She can’t be more than twelve or thirteen summers; a frail little thing with no skills aside from reading books thicker than she is, and asking innumerable questions. They taught her nothing, simply locked her in a windowless cell under the waterline. For at least ten years, that is all the child’s known. If the fate Urianger saw for us makes my blood freeze, her situation makes it boil again. Should I chance to meet Eulmore’s General--the man responsible for her “care”--I will let him know exactly what I think.

Tomorrow Minfilia and I shall attempt to reach Nabaath Areng, the site of the Flood’s halting; the girl says she must go there, as if pulled. I have a hope I dare not voice yet. The Blessing of Light does work in such interesting ways.

But that is on the morrow; tonight, though a day late, I wished to write to you as I did last year. With the date in mind you have also been in my thoughts--when I’ve had a moment to think, at least--and I find myself recalling more and more often the little things. Simple things. Things I fear I may forget, having been here for years now, years without the way you tilt your head when you have a question. It initially annoyed me actually, you were so quiet but now, gods I would give much to be in your silence again, to see that quizzical look. Anything to see the little furrow between your brows when you’re thinking. When you prop your chin on your hands as you stare out a window, tea forgotten in your hand. How you unconsciously wriggle and make faces as you read, reacting to the pages, lips silently moving as you devour each word...

“Oh I do not,” Aeryn muttered--realizing in the same moment that she was doing that now. She sipped her tea and kept reading, noting how he wrote, as much as what; the moments where he had scratched out words, or underlined others. The splots where the pen had sat on the page a moment longer than normal as he thought of what he wanted to admit to. The way the letters slanted in places where he was eager. There was no poetry this time, fewer puns and word play. He had written when tired and possibly injured, given the shakiness of some lettering.

There were places where he couldn’t remember clearly--what perfume had she worn on the day of a particular memory? Was she wearing her red coat, or a blue dress in another? He wasn’t certain.

The letter wrapped up several pages later.

...I must get some sleep, given the long trek across the Amber Hills awaiting. I don’t know what will happen when we arrive, but whatever it is, I’ll keep the girl safe. Taking care of her is the only thing I can do, lacking the skills of the Exarch and our colleagues. Particularly now that we have abandoned the idea of going home--yet. I still don’t know how I feel about that, having struggled to find a way back for so long now, but there must be a home to return to. To save ourselves, we must save this realm. Forgive me; as much as I yearn to see you again, I wish for you to live far more. Despite everything, I still remain

Yours, Thancred.

Aeryn drew in a sharp breath; the previous letter’s signature had been much simpler, after all the floweriness of the verses. This simpler, newsy, reminiscent letter had such a different feel to it, so much changing for him in that year. Her eyes kept drifting to that closing.

It took a few moments before she was able to refold that bundle and open the next.

His next year in the First; this one another detailed description of events he survived, and quite a lot about Ryne, still only known as Minfilia at the time.

...I actually began this letter yesterday, as we rested in a small inn at the edge of the Greatwood. I thought of seeking out Y’shtola, but am unfamiliar with those dark and twisting paths, and was low on ammunition. Minfilia was exhausted, unable to fight or imbue cartridges, and I won’t risk her more than our constant travels already do.

It was she who reminded me that I had been writing, before she made me take my rest as well. I’ve never told her about these letters, but she’s a bright girl and I have told her of you. Sometimes it’s simply because she is curious about you, and the hope that you’ll come here and save yourself, as well as the rest of us. Many times though I don’t mean to say anything, but the stories simply come, like a slumbering spring awoken by new rains, bubbling up and overflowing the riverbanks.

It’s something about her, I suppose, that makes me remember, and so I must speak before the memories fade back into the dustier corridors of my mind. Perhaps an effect of her unique Blessing? Or perhaps simply her childish curiosity drawing it out of me.

There’s a selfish part of me that wants you to meet her. It would mean that you’re here, for one, but also I think you two would get along. She’s a good girl--with her moments of petulance and stubbornness, as many youths are wont, but she’s come such a long way already, has learned so quickly.

I fear influencing her. The choice she must make is so important, and it must be hers.  You would be a much better role model; you inspire others to do what’s best simply by your presence. I’ve felt the lack of you more keenly this last year than ever before...

Aeryn read through, noting he wrote it more like a conversation she had yet to answer. Memories of their adventures and companionship were woven through the words more naturally as he spoke to her. She smiled as he spent a good chunk of the letter not even realizing how he had gushed about Ryne and all she had learned and how she had grown in that first year they spent together, as if he were trying to ensure Aeryn would love the child as much as he so obviously did--even if the foolish man hadn’t been able to tell the girl so until it had almost been too late.

But then, that was Thancred; locking his thoughts and feelings behind stoicism, snark, and literally in a box on a shelf.

She traced her nail along the letters of his name--again signed “Yours”--before tucking that bundle away and picking up the fourth.

By this time the twins were somewhere in Norvrandt, though Thancred had no opportunity to see them as Eulmore’s hunters were ever close. He wrote to Aeryn of his frustration with how many Scions had come to the First but she was still so far away and still in so much danger, alongside the rest of the Source and this shard itself. If she couldn’t come to Norvrandt to break the Light’s hold over the realm then the girl would have to make her choice sooner rather than later--and perhaps face the same fate as all of her predecessors.

He admitted that he feared both of those outcomes. He seemed to have begun to cross out that line, but had stopped himself.

...A nasty part of me believes you will never receive these nameday letters. That these are simply my way of remembering yet another important woman in my life I will never see again. I try not to dwell on such thoughts, try to keep busy, but you know me. Perhaps better than anyone since our Minfilia. How I wish I could speak with you again; patrolling through Mor Dhona, lunch at Rowena’s cafe, stargazing on the roofs of Ala Mhigo, reading in the Waking Sands’ dusty library. Simply holding you until we fall asleep, those few, rare moments we had. You always made me say more than I ever meant to; you’ve a way of drawing me out despite myself—and failing that, of simply being there as a brilliant, warm presence.

There are places here I want to show you, things I want to share. Yet I fear your coming, what it will mean. What changes I’ve experienced. What we had was...comfortable, and felt right, after so long, and yet it was still so new and fragile. I used to be confident in my ability to be delicate, but these last few years with this girl have made me feel boorish and clumsy. And I know I have changed, not just because of her, but everything in this hard world. Will you recognize me when we meet? Will you still want me, when you were already so uncertain before?

I suppose I shan’t know until you’re here, or we find a way home. Given the Exarch’s record, the former seems more likely. And it still worries me, much as I know it’s the better course to preserve all we hold dear...

Aeryn stared out the window for a long moment; she had known of his doubts, his fears; when she had arrived and finally found him again, it had been difficult. Yet despite everything, they had gotten past it.

She eyed the final bundle, slimmer than the rest, those dates seeming so heavy though she had no conscious recollection of them, given her state at the time. Having finished the tea, she poured a glass of water and began to read.

Aeryn,

Ryne assures us you will still be Aeryn when you wake; her wards hold for now. I pray long enough to find a cure for what those bastards did to you. What we did to you, unknowing. Will you be pleased to know I have not struck Urianger for his part? I was too tired and injured as we returned, and occupied with carrying you besides. Now I simply am too weary in heart and mind to conjure that initial anger, and he has had time to explain how the Exarch coerced him into his confidence.

I am still not happy about it.

For five years I waited to see you again, thought about you through many days and most nights--such as they are, here. It’s funny what one can become accustomed to in time. Finally seeing you again was a jolt to every one of my senses as the missing you had long since become more real to me, much as I longed for your presence.

And as I feared, you hesitated. I don’t blame you; I know this place changed me. What we had back home was still so new, despite the prior years we had known each other. So I tried to be content to merely be in your company once more. We had rebuilt our friendship once, we could do it again. I had been a fool to think I deserved more.

Then you sought me out in Rak’tika. Do I need to tell you how you intoxicated me that day? I hope I was a comfort, both in words and in the release you needed. The distance still felt too great, but this much, at least, I could give. I thought it would be enough, to simply be what you needed in the moment.

I know now that I was once again fooling myself.

These last few months traveling and fighting and just being together have been a strange mix of stress and relief; our mission had been dangerous and difficult in so many ways, and yet working together, it was hard not to get caught up in the optimism, in the feeling that things would turn out, that we would find a way.

And you were here; your quizzical headtilts, your faces when you read, the white flowers in your hair. Your silences, your laughter, your strength in combat and your helping with every common chore in the vicinity. I thought I could simply be happy to bask in your steady light.

But now, seeing it tear you apart, it is not enough; it never was, and never will be. I can live with it, should that be your wish. My wish, however, is to continue what we had once begun. To hold you close not only occasionally but always.

Aeryn felt a hard lump in her throat; there was a decent space between the lines, the ink thick where he had hesitated, the initial letters shaky. Still he had written them:

I am in love with you, Aeryn.

It’s taken me time to collect myself after rereading what I just wrote and fighting the urge to burn the whole page. A part of me fears that you will scoff, though the greater part of me knows--hopes--better of you.

And the gods know you deserve better than me, but if you’ll have me, I certainly won’t complain.

I know after everything with Ryne I ought to say it to you aloud. That it may already be too late to do so. I pray that isn’t the case. I pray I find the courage and the words both to say what you deserve to hear. Even should you never reciprocate; if that should be the case, you shall never hear another whisper from me on the matter.

But I hold out a small hope, that you will, that you do. That we will have the chance to discuss the matter further. That you survive.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I only know I’ll be at your side until the end; there’s nowhere else I can be.

Ryne is calling; hold on just a little while longer, darling.

Yours always, Thancred.

She covered her face with her hands, emotions and memories flooding over her. There were words before finally confronting Emet-Selch in his memory of Amaurot. More than words on returning to the Crystarium, bodies twined together in relief and comfort.

Then she had returned to the Source to report their success. She came back to the First as quickly as she could, though; not only was there still much work to do, but he was here, and things were...not exactly different, but not quite the same, either.

As she reread the last page, she noticed a swiftly written addendum on the back. She turned it over.

I carried these letters all the way to the Tempest, thinking if I failed to say anything I might at least give them to you--they are yours, after all. But of course no time seemed right, and with a screwing of my courage (and pointed prodding from Urianger), at the last I was able to say what I wished. Miraculously, you said it too.

And now here we are, you peacefully asleep while the night sky wheels overhead and I still hear the celebrations outside despite the ungodly hour. I’ll rejoin you in a moment, but I needed some time to attempt to process the last few days. What happened in the Tempest. The fact you’re alive, and healthy, and claim to love me in return.

I’m not entirely certain why, but I won’t complain, either.

Rereading these letters, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to hand them over yet. They’ll return to their box for now, and perhaps in a few days I’ll be ready to show you.

Aeryn laughed lightly; of course he had hesitated to share them. The letters showed all his vulnerabilities behind the serious, confident facade he had developed. And with everything in the Empty, and then Elidibus, it was no wonder the letters had fallen to the wayside.

Until her actual nameday on the Source had come around, his note delivered with her breakfast by Tataru per Thancred’s instructions while he was on his latest reconnaissance. It wasn’t as if he could have brought the letters with him, after all--nor given them to her in front of the rest of the Scions in the Ocular, nevermind how public their relationship was now.

She rubbed her face--she had cried more than a few times while reading--and replaced the letters in the box. She locked it, and pocketed the key.

The girls were still out so it was no trouble to take the tea service to the sink and clean it, along with the other dishes, giving her time and activity to settle. She finished by washing her own face, removing some evidence of her emotion.

Since the first year she had joined the Scions, they had given each other gifts; she had discovered his nameday from Minfilia, gifting him the orchestrion roll of a song she knew he liked from a favorite minstrel. Her own first nameday as a Scion had been missed due to Lahabrea and Baelsar’s schemes, but Thancred was certain to make up for it. Sometimes they were late, or even early, but they always managed a little something, even as friends.

Aeryn took the box with her as she left Ryne’s apartment. She still had a few people to see while here on the First--starting with Lyna and the messages from G’raha--but then she would retire to her own suite in the Pendants and do a bit of rereading.

And maybe a bit more once she returned home, too; after all, if she timed it right, it would still be her nameday, and the best time to reread her present.

[ffxivimagines]

Daring Dalliances | Main Story | Rating: G | Part 1

Summary: 

Wherein the Warrior of Light makes a questionable decision for the sake of homemade jalebi, Thancred attempts to be the voice of reason, and the Crystal Exarch wingmans his way into the rapidly developing hellscape that is getting them a fake fiancée. 

Or, the fake-dating canon-slightly-compliant AU wherein which the Warrior of Light values dessert more than their morals. 

Part One of MSQ (non-character oriented route) under cut!

Never let it be said that the Warrior of Light is not challenged. While the might of gods and mortals has grown stale over the years, the affairs of family visitation have not. If anything, they’ve become more perilous than ever, the Warrior’s found family of sorts clamoring for dinner together, a letter, for them to answer their linkpearl without sounds of battle and death ringing through the line. They would love to visit and take a day (read: week) off, but even with everything settled between the Source and its inhabitants, there is work to be done. They simply do not have the time.

“Visit us soon, my star! Valeryn has been working on that shawl you sent her the pattern for and wants to show it to you. Her skill has improved by leaps and bounds, as of late.”

“Yes, Mamá,” they agree, knee-deep in swamp water and covered very thoroughly in mud, “I will visit as soon as I am able. Could I possibly bring my f—what the hell?” The line erupts into static, crackling snatches of speech filtering through with no incoherence to be found, they wait, face scrunched up in discomfort. It isn’t like they can remove the earpiece when their hands are nearly more dirt than skin. 

“—did I hear that right? A f—“

“Yes? Mamá, the transmission isn’t clear. I can’t hear you. Can I call you back once I’m back in Ul’dah?” 

They wait for an answer and slog through the water all the while, searching, searching, finally. It only took them an annoyingly long time, but they’d found a good few baby morbols. Now, all that’s left is to kill off the parent and bring a couple babies back to the coliseum. They listen to the static even while aether drips from their hands and makes the water bubble as if ready to boil, the fight over in seconds and quarry acquired in less than a minute afterward. 

They’re halfway back to their chocobo when the line clears again.

“Am I coming through?”

“Yes, Mamá,” they reply. “Did you hear me earlier?”

There’s the sound of excited giggling and then about three voices speaking all at once, layering over each other when they say, “Your fiancée, right?” and “Congratulations!” 

“I said my friend, Mamá—“

The woman on the line laughs brightly. “No need to be shy about it now, my star. You shine so bright it was only a matter of time before someone saw it too!”

They groan, scrubbing a hand over their face and regretting it the moment mud gets in their mouth and nearly into their eyes. “It’s not like that—“

“Did you hear that, M’aaiho? They proposed!”

“Mamá! You’re misunderstanding!”

“Bring them to dinner when you visit,” Mamá invites (or, as anyone with a particularly opinionated parent would say: orders). “They need to meet the family!”

The Warrior sighs. This is a battle they will never win. “Okay,” they acquiesce, “but only dinner.”

“Not even dessert?”

“Dessert, too,” they agree, thinking of the pastries Mamá and M’aaiho made last time they visited. Those had been heavenly.

Cheers crackle loudly in their ear, but for the sake of pastries, they will prevail! For food! For the sweet taste of saffron syrup! For their stomach Eorzea!

They regret agreeing about five hours later when Thancred nails them with a look of absolute disbelief and says, “Wow, I have been surprised by you many a time, but this is… new.”

The Warrior gestures wildly, agitated to the point of breaking their usual habits of excessive nodding and stoic wall-staring, as if their frenzied hand-flapping will get the point across without words. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

They open their mouth, close it, open it again and get out a vague squeaking noise. Whatever part of their brain that is in charge of speech has clocked out early and left them to flounder, unsure of how to verbalize the radical thought of “I need a fake fiancée who is convincing enough that they’ll be able to convince M’aaiho we’re a thing while also being someone I trust enough that them being affectionate like we’re courting won’t make me want to crawl into the Crystal Tower and die from embarrassment or discomfort.”

“Need a minute?”

They nod violently enough Thancred fears for their neck. 

“Okay. Take your time. I have until—“ he glances at one of the chronometers within their inn room “—a bit past eight. Give or take a few minutes, we have an entire bell.”

They take a moment to try and calm down, bouncing their legs and cycling through ideas before coming to a seemingly flawless conclusion. “Thancred, I need you to fake date me.”

Thancred, to his benefit, does not laugh. He instead smiles genially and asks, “And you would not see my hand severed from my arm should I place it on your hip?”

The Warrior pauses, thinks, and replies, “Now that you put it that way, I need someone who isn’t as forward.” 

“So that leaves… Urianger, possibly?”

“Does he even have a romantic bone in his body?”

Thancred huffs half a laugh. “You would be surprised. Antiquated speech aside, he is quite good with women.”

“Need I remind you that I am nowhere near his type,” they say, “nor particularly capable of decoding his prose.”

“His hands do a lot of talking,” he answers, as if that is not terribly misleading and otherwise incriminating evidence of their nearly-joint-parenthood of Ryne. 

They raise a brow. “Do they now?”

It is only by the grace of Lyna’s intervention that Thancred is saved a well-intentioned ribbing. “The Exarch asks for your presence, Warrior.”

“And he will have it in but a moment. The Ocular, as usual?”

“Aye,” she agrees. “I will inform him forthwith.”

Thancred stands from his seat and stretches. “Back to work for both of us. Do tell if you’re departing to world yet unseen.”

They nod and stand from where they’d been half collapsed on their bed. In a shift of stance, barely even a half-second, they have gone from their civvies to adventuring gear. “Be safe, Thancred,” they say, tacking on, “and do not tell Urianger about this! I would die before the fae let me live it down!”

“Good luck with your fiancée,” he replies, striding out of the room with them close behind. They part ways at the end of the hallway and they jump straight over the railings to skip the stairs on their way to an aethernet crystal. 

“The Ocular, please,” they whisper, and it is done. They flicker into existence in the room itself, the Tower directing them from the well-traveled paths right to where the Exarch needs their presence. “Evening,” they greet. “Finally looks like it, too.”

“Good evening,” he replies, smiling softly as if they could not see it. “I hope my summons did not interrupt your day off.” 

They shrug. “Wasn’t much of one back on the Source, if I am completely honest.” They pause, fiddle with their hands, and ask, “Could I trouble you for your counsel?”

“Always, Warrior. What troubles you?”

“What about─”

He interrupts, sitting down on the steps by the dais and patting the floor beside him. “The matter of summons can wait. Sit and let your troubles be known. You─we have time.”

They sit down with a thump, tension visible in the way their shoulders are drawn tight despite the looseness of their facial expression. “I need a fiancée.”

“You are… to be married?”

“A fake one! Not a, um, real fiancée,” they amend, voice wavering. They stare at their pants and pick at a loose thread. “I would like to court someone, but I fear my life being what it is… you know?” They laugh hollowly, scars on their hands and callousing making something like holding hands or touching someone softly feel foreign, not for them. “I am not exactly desirable, see, and there’s nothing I can do to take away what marks I bear that would make me whole again.”

They very clearly do not just mean the many deep grooves cut into their skin. Being the savior to Eorzea, the Source, the First, to him, the Crystal Exarch knows how much it can take away from a person. However, he thinks no less of them for it. If anything, he thinks more. 

“Maybe to a coward,” he replies arily. “Not like someone who knows of your boundless devotion.”

“Was that a hint of G’raha I heard there?”

The Exarch flusters. Even with his hood down and identity known, to hear his name curling off their tongue once more is too much! Spare him, oh Warrior of Light! “I... forgive me. That was likely strange of me to say─”

“It was nice,” they say, sigh turning to a smile toward the end. “Thank you, Exarch.”

He redirects the conversation shortly thereafter, seeking to avoid further embarrassment for want of a better verbal filter, and learns of the situation in full shortly thereafter. He cannot even find it in himself to be surprised when they groan and flop backward to lay fully on the crystal floor. 

“I have no words.”

They gesture as is to say “and you think I do?” before groaning. “I can’t believe I let my craving for jalebi win me over.”

“It must be good, if you’d brave the waters of betrothal for it,” he comments. “Why not think of it as an adventure?”

They sit up fast enough he can hear their back crack (ouch) and place their hands on his shoulders, leaning in. He panics at their closeness for all of a second before remembering, this is the Warrior of Light. This is the person who once went seven months while being actively courted by the head of House Borel before they were spirited away to Doma, subsequently breaking the courtship off without knowing what it was. They are just affectionate and endearing and very, very close. 

“I love you, G’raha Tia.”

And this is just another mode of devastation, he supposes, when they lean in a little further and hug him fiercely as if to physically shove all their emotions into him. His ears ring and he flicks them as if to get rid of the echoes of “I love you” by force and subconscious reaction. 

They release him, stand, and say, “I am so sorry, but I need to go and I need to go now! I had an epiphany!”

Within a breath, they are gone and he is left alone in the Ocular. He presses hands to his cheeks and allows himself to flush. Ye gods, do they even know how many would kill for the chance to so much as play at being within their sights? Sending a desperate prayer to Hydaelyn, he hopes this will end well. Given their track record, however, he sincerely doubts it. 

A moment later, he realizes that he was not informed as to what their epiphany entailed to have them in such a hurry. He fears to know the answer.