#and being reminded of how beautiful ala mhigo is

[duskmother]

Auraugust 2023

Day 18 : DPS

"Nhaama made us for war. Ever since we came into this world, we have fought. May you ever walk in crimson. For in crimson there is life. There is liberation."

-> Auraugust Master Tag

[improvised-finish]

Is your character particularly philosophical? Have they ever pondered the way of the world and their place in it, for better or worse? Are they happy with where they're at or do they aspire to change things? What thoughts keep them awake at night when they're trying to sleep?

"Philosophical? Don't know if I'd go that far, but sure, I've thought about the way things are in general and the way my life has gone. When your partners are both esteemed scholars it's kinda hard not to get around to talking about that kind of stuff eventually." She laughs, her pride in her partners showing through.

"Even before I was in a relationship, though, I'd spent time thinking about how I should use the overwhelmingly large amount of power that had been placed on my shoulders. I think I was such an ardent pacifist early in my journey almost as a reaction to it. It was a small way to resist that fate, I guess. A way to say that even if I was forced to become a weapon, I would not take lives indiscriminately." She looks down and to the side, trying to figure out how exactly to continue. "Unfortunately, I pretty quickly had to learn that pacifism can only go so far. I still believe in it, in the broad strokes. I aim to incapacitate if it can be helped, but being on the front lines against a foe who will not hesitate to take your life in the blink of an eye... hardens you, if that makes sense."

"But back to the question: my place in the world. It's never really the same for too long, I've found. I've been a weapon to be wielded, then a symbol for liberation, then a beacon of salvation, and now just a citizen of Eorzea. I think I'm happy with where I am now, but there were many points along the way where I had to figure out how to change, how to become myself. Fortunately I'm surrounded by partners and friends who've been there to help and support me as I do, and now I think I've found a 'me' that's comfortable, so to speak. Beyond the titles and all that, I just want to be known as someone who wants to help, and I think I've managed that."

"As for what keeps me up at night... Mostly irrational fears. Losing the people who mean so much to me. Not being able to be there to help when it's needed. Being too late to save anyone. Some of these were things that we confronted when we battled against Meteion's song of oblivion, but... I think there's still some small shred of worry inside me somewhere, even though we overcame it in the end. I don't know. I guess I fear being alone most of all. That isolation kept me from becoming who I truly wanted to be for so long, even though it was somewhat self-imposed, and now that the day has been won and we can simply enjoy each other's company, it hurts to know that someday will be the very last day I'll spend with my partners, with my mother, with Beau and the rest of the Scions." She pauses, tearing up a bit at the memories of those she was unable to save. "I'm sorry, I just... Loss has never been a stranger in my life for too long, and I... well I wonder what it would be like if those people had survived. If Ysayle and Haurchefant had lived to see what became of Ishgard, to see humans and dragons joined to save the star. If Moenbryda and Papalymo had lived to learn all of Etheirys' many secrets. If Conrad had lived to breathe the air of a free Ala Mhigo. If Tesleen had lived to gaze upon on the beauty of the night sky, stars twinkling overhead. I try to carry their memories with me as I travel, to give them bits of the world they might've liked to see themselves, but it does get to me sometimes. That the good fortune to survive through all hardship can be a sword that cuts both ways."

"That reminds me of a moment that I'm not exactly proud of, but... it's better if I talk about it, I think. As kind of an example. When I'd first gone to Garlemald proper with the relief effort, we'd gone to offer aid to the survivors in one of the train stations, and been taken hostage for our troubles. Jullus, the young man who'd been given the responsibility of making us useful, eventually opened up to me about how he'd come home from his military duties to find his entire family tempered, and how he'd been forced to take their lives to ensure his own survival. It was a chilling story, and the prospect of something like that happening while I was gone haunted me. The first moment after we were no longer held captive, I fled. I couldn't handle the idea of coming home to my mother and finding her under the thrall of the towers. I ran back to camp, grabbed as many warding scales as I could carry, and teleported all the way to Gridania. I didn't stop running until I was on my mother's doorstep. I was a proper mess; to say my emotions got the better of me was an understatement. After she'd managed to get me to let go of her and take some deep breaths, I implored her to take the scales and give them to everyone she knew. To always carry them. She agreed to do it, thank the Twelve, and explaining what had happened when I got back to Camp Broken Glass was... uncomfortable, to say the least, but I just... couldn't let it happen to her too. Maybe that's selfish, that I stole some away for my own ends, but I couldn't bear the thought of having to turn on my own kin like that. I'd endure a thousand more awkward lectures from Lucia if it meant I never had to worry again." She takes a heavy breath, as if she had just run a malm. "It's why I try not to stray too far from those I care about, if I can help it. Leaving home has always felt difficult, and I imagine that fear is probably part of why. And that's also probably why getting to return home to share gifts and stories is my favorite part of my travels. It feels like closing the circle, completing the loop. It feels like a chord finally resolving in a piece of music. It feels like... well, home."

[sapphobolide]

FFXIV Day 19 — "Taken"

Lyse and Y’shtola have much to discuss.

They meet in a small coffee shop in Ala Mhigo, with a few rooftop tables overlooking the street below. Lyse has always struggled to teleport all the way to Old Sharlayan, and Y’shtola certainly doesn’t mind taking a minor break from her studies. The coffee is thick and dark, and comes in miniscule porcelain cups with a square of sweet baklava on the side. They soak in the sun and the sounds of the city, and when all their pleasantries are done with, they talk about Dawn.

“It’s weird,” Lyse says through a mouth full of pastry. “She feels so familiar, you know? But so many times she’ll do something like—I don’t know, laugh at her own joke, or dance in public. And I’ll think, ‘Neither Caswyn or Tamsyn would’ve done that.’”

“Mm.” Y’shtola takes a sip of coffee. She knows the sensation. It had felt surprisingly natural to bring Dawn with her into the bowels of the Numenon, despite the fact that the large woman displayed neither Caswyn’s analytical capabilities nor Tamsyn’s instincts for skulking. That sense of familiarity was shaken, however, when they emerged to find the first light of day creeping over the island of Sharlayan. Dawn had rushed out of the library, all amazement, staring at the pink-touched clouds as if she had never before beheld a sunrise.

Lyse swallows. “Anyroad, we sparred up above the Reach, in Rhalgr’s palm. For old time’s sake. Let me tell you, she doesn’t fight like Caswyn or Tamsyn either.”

Y’shtola raises her eyebrows. “You fought with her. Just the two of you.”

“You mean the three of us?” Lyse leans over the table. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Shtola.”

Her ear twitches. “I have no need to do so.” She takes another deliberate sip.

“I wouldn’t blame you for it!” Lyse laughs. “Her energy is catching. Of course no one would ever try to insert themselves into what Caswyn and Tamsyn had, but now that they’re one person…Well, you’ve seen how everyone looks at her, right?”

“I have also seen how, precisely, their aether has intermingled.” She feels a flush in her cheeks, unbidden, at even the memory. She is not usually given to flights of metaphorical fancy, but she could not peer into Dawn’s aetheric composition without feeling as though she were spying on a moment of private passion. “I am certain they will not be entertaining any dalliances while in their new form.”

“Gods, can you imagine though,” Lyse says in one breath.

With effort, Y’shtola holds on to her decorum. “I will not.”

“She’s very strong, Shtola. And the size of her thighs, well—“

“If you are going to subject our good friends to such purile imaginings, I shall call this visit to a close.”

Lyse laughs. “You’re so Sharlayan sometimes! You can’t tell me you’ve only had the purest of thoughts about the seven-fulm, double-voiced beauty who saved the whole star.”

Y’shtola does not dignify this with a response.

Lyse sighs and looks out across the roofs and alleyways of Ala Mhigo. “I’m sure you’re right, of course. As usual.” She smiles. “You know, it reminds me of when we were living on the Steppe, with the Mol. After we’d completed Bardam’s Mettle, and were properly part of the clan and all. Getting ready for the Naadam, Tamsyn would go off training swords with Gosetsu and Hien, while I tried to get Caswyn in better shape back at camp. We heard some of the Mol elders gossiping about Tamsyn once, and what kind of marriage she’d make for the clan. ‘A woman who can cook, hunt, and sing?’ they’d say. ‘She’ll make a fine wife for a Dazkar man.’ And Caswyn just smiled, the way that she does when she knows something no one else has figured out yet.”

“I know the one,” Y’shtola says flatly, but her annoyance is feigned. She does miss her friend—though Dawn’s presence did not do nothing to fill the gap left by Caswyn’s absence, she admits. “In any case, I believe I have already witnessed our new���old—friend being propositioned when last we dined at Mehryde's Meyhane. I cannot say for certain, as the offer was made whilst I had stepped away. But I did return in time to hear Dawn’s response.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“‘I’m taken.’”

[turbobyakuren]

Opinions on each nation/citystate visited so far in XIV?

Ul'dah: I started the game twice here, so it definitely is my "homeland". The daytime music feels like home because i spent a lot of the early game part hanging around here. Revisiting it makes me think "wow, i came a long way!". I think Ul'dah is the best City-state to start the game.

Limsa Lominsa: Aesthetically the best city, but it's a nightmare to navigate through.

Gridania: Music and Black Shroud is so nice and I love it so much. The lore though?

Ishgard: PEAK FICTION i love Ishgard and its issues (both external and internal) so much. What a fantastic setting for the second best arc of the game that is Heavensward. However it is inherently funny to be an Au'ra and hanging around here.

Dravania: Really beautiful and gorgeous places. I really enjoyed hanging around here.

Rhalgr's reach & Ala Mhigo: As i continuously say: Gyr Abania was done SO DIRTY in Stormblood and I wish it was more impactful. I wish Rhalgr's reach was the city state with the inn instead of Kugane. As i continously talk about on Discord, Stormblood and Gyr Abania is only Peak Fiction is your WoL is Olympia Pallas and if Lyse doesn't exist.

Kugane:

Ruby Sea: Absolutely enamored by this place. Somehow reminds me of Xenoblade's Eryth Sea in its vibe (NOT THE SAME AT ALL I KNOW BUT GET ME)

Doma: Don't really care.

Azim's Steppe: THE BEST PART OF STORMBLOOOOOD i love everything about it. The worldbuilding, the geography, the music. It is so good. I really enjoy it! However it is inherently funny to be an Au'ra and hanging around here (I HATE LORD HIEN SO MUCH)

Crystarium: The place and its music scream "hope" and "willpower" to me. An absolutely gorgeous place, a home in a land where everything is alien to you. Somewhere where you can trust literally anyone that talks to you. I really enjoyed hanging around here. It also has my favourite inn in the game (and i love that they made the inn plot relevant).

Shadowbringers City States: I do not want to make this post any more long so i'll lump everything together. I absolutely love how each Nation echoes to each Eorzean city state (Kholusia to La Noscea, Raktika woods to Black Shroud, etc.) but don't fall into the pitfall of being carbon copies of each city state. I think it's funny how Eulmore gets the Ul'dah problem of having the most focus out of all Norvandt nations. My personal favourite is Ahm Areng in terms of post-apocalyptic vibe and music.

[harrycollins]

OH !! That's exciting heh it's not everyday you see ppl interested in playing 12 but I'M ALL HERE FOR IT. Despite some things and few characters that can feel annoying at times, it's a final fantasy game so I'm sure you're going to like it. I'm made of final fantasy memories and so is my WOL so she's almost too heavily inspired by fran, because despite 12 not being like my top 3 ff, fran is my top 3 female character lol so I reeally recommend it!! The world building is actually really nice, and you will fall for like at least 50% of the main party (and despite what most ppl think, I do like vaan. He's just quirky dude and that's okay.) But yeah you really should give it a try!! Balthier was like one of my first video game crushes ever, so I'm not going to sit here and ignore your interest in this game!!! Go for it, I'm sure you will have a great time ♡

AND YEEEEESSSS ABOUT PRAE!! I adore the thought of WOL and Thancred being just like "oh she/he hot" at first but when Thancred/Lahabrea thing happens the WOL goes "oh shit why do I care that much?" And you cannot tell me Thancred isn't like starstruck for the first time when the WOL saves him in Prae. I adore the idea of him acting weird on the very first days after it bc he's still embarrassed lol but yeah, everything about how protect Thancred is actually speaks to me in a emotional level. He's also one of my faves, and I always think about his relationship with the Scions a lot and the thought of him caring so much for them vs starting to have feelings for the WOL has so much potential angst, I love it. He lost so much and all he has now is them, he couldn't really bear to make a mistake of loosing her too you know??? IDK I JUST LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. And when u play ffxii, think of them when you meet fran and balthier would you? It's the sole image of power duo I hope him and my WOL has — even before being together. I went for a whole ass essay there but I just love them a lot, and IN MY DEFENSE, I picked the gunblade before Thancred. Because, like I said, me and my WOL are made of final fantasy memories so I saw something that reminded me of ffviii and I had to. So yup !! I main gunbreaker just like that mf, and they are a very happy gunbreaker couple tyvm (in case u didn't know, I was the one that sent u the hades ex ask few days ago!! I walk around proudly with my odune dude!!)

Also I woud LOVE to show you my WOL, she's my pride and joy and VERY similar to Fran but you should expect heh I'm kinda shy to post her on tumblr tho 👉👈 mostly bc I'm not the most gposer person ever hahah so I only have in game screenshots! I can sent u them in a separated ask tho if you'd like !! Together with another ask ofc lol and then you can answer just the one without the images so I don't expose too much of it lmao

And just for the record: your feelings with Thancred is exactly how I feel about Estinien. He's a good boy and everything you talk about ur WOL and him I just go "yes, he deserves it." Because *taps estinien's back* this bad boy can fill so much love in it!!

From what I saw here it looks like ff12 has a medieval setting and the animations look so beautiful too. I will definitely try it if manage to get it on sale. I love games with good stories and well written characters.

It seems like you really found the ONE for your Warrior of Light considering how you have lots of thoughts about both of them dfghfjdkf. I really feel happy for you. And I agree with your points about Thancred we saw how much he cares about his loved ones after the Ifrit questline, how much he regrets not being there with the Warrior of Light... After that, the game always separates both of them -Lahabrea possessing him, bloody banquet, Thancred staying behind when the Warrior of Light leaves for Ala Mhigo AND he is the first Scion that Exarch pulls into the First-

Also, both of them being GNB is so cool because after you send this ask I searched how Thancred learned to be a GNB, and Our job master Radovan's friend taught him??!!! IT IS SO ROMANTIC IF YOU ASK ME. Both of them teaching their art to this power couple and their legacy passing to your Warrior of Light and Thancred...

And I understand you perfectly about not wanting to show your Warrior of Light to everyone. I won't answer that ask if you would send me a picture of her and delete it after looking. And thanks for your Hades EX ask too. I might do that trial soon and get my own Odune or Eleos. Wish me luck (I have none when it comes to drops in this game)

[ladyramora]

NSFW PWP (Porn With Plot) Commission

OT3/Throuple (Sexy WoL Sandwich)

G'raha x Male Miqo'te WoL (W'skhol) x Haurchefant (Established Relationship)

W'skhol Tia belongs to @ulfhade

....

NSFW Warnings: Oral sex, Hotdogging, Anal Play, Use of Sex Toys, Anal Sex, and Double Penetration

Everything always seemed to happen so fast. It felt like only yesterday that his adventures had begun, where everything started to blur together. Going from small popotoes to… whatever it was he could call it now. Full on, heavy hero stuff? Truly, it could all be traced back to that moment of becoming entangled with the Scions. All the events that happened after were liken to a blur, with the most important parts stuck in W'skhol's mind.

Like all the events leading up to meeting G'raha, how quickly they had bonded, become close during that much too short adventure. W'skhol had been drawn in at the start by G'raha's magnetism. His playfulness, his excitement, the thrill of discovering mysteries of a time long passed. Being near him had reminded W'skhol what it was to have fun and enjoy life even while doing what had to be done. Sharing a tent as they had, and with Mor Dhona so near to Coerthas, the nights had been colder without the warmth of the sun and W'skhol and G'raha had gotten physically closer by huddling for warmth. Huddling that had turned to merely snuggling as they grew closer relationship-wise, their night time cuddles translating to a comfortable level of casual touching during the day. The two miqo'te bonding faster through their shared skinship. It was the start of something that could have been beautiful. Deep like, affection that could have easily turned to love given time. But then he had inevitably lost him to a long sleep he could not wake him from.

Having lost a budding love that could have blossomed into something amazing, he had not thought he could put his heart on the line again so soon, but then there had been Haurchefant. Haurchefant who had been so kind, so fun, and endearingly strange. Haurchefant who had flirted, flattered W'skhol with unabashed, sometimes downright audacious compliments that had often only been interrupted by his party of accompanying companions. Often times W'skhol had wished he was not quite so busy so that he could spend more time in the lord's company. Despite it all, he and Haurchefant had just… clicked. With his time in Ishgard they had become almost inseparable.

Flirting had turned to casual touches, to embracing one another, and then more. After their first kiss, Haurchefant simply could not go a day without expressing his affection. If he could not be by W'skhol's side, he would send a knight to W'skhol's side —wherever the miqo'te may have been—bearing a "missive" that truly was not official business at all. Usually it was either a sweet, silly love note, or a lewd, much too detailed letter that should not have traded hands. What if someone else had read it? The man was shameless. Unfortunately, it only made W'skhol love the man all the more.

With both of them having several close calls that were far too many brushes with death, it was no surprise that they'd made the decision to stay together. After a heart to heart with his father, Haurchefant had become something of an honorary Scion. Ever at W'skhol's side as his lover and closest confidant, he was there for him through thick and thin.Through saving Ishgard, to liberating Ala Mhigo and Doma, too. Haurchefant had been there for all of it.

So when the Scions had been taken from his side by that mysterious voice that spoke of throwing wide the gates —Thancred first, then Y'shtola and Urianger — W'skhol had clung to Haurchefant in fear. Fear that had proven to be true as Haurchefant was the next to go, and the twins after him. Despite almost dying because of it, W'skhol was relieved to be reunited with those he cared for on the First. Including one Crystal Exarch that turned out to be none other than his own sleeping beauty, G'raha Tia. It had been a shock, finally catching wise to who he was in Kholusia, just before they had made the climb of Mt. Gulg.

After everything that had happened on the First, and all that continued on back here on the Source, W'skhol was tired. Happy to help as he ever was, and doing all he could do, but very tired. More and more everyday did he look forward to going home, to the two men he loved most in the world that were there waiting for him. Thankfully today was at its end, and the miqo'te could finally go home.

….

W'skhol practically stumbles up the stairs leading to their plot, the green grass crunching under his heavy steps as he makes his way to the door. He fiddles with his keys, fighting a yawn as he blinks blearily down at the lock. The door opens helpfully before he can even attempt to jam his key in the lock.

W'skhol glances up, smiling tiredly at finding his miqo'te lover stood in the doorway. They'd had different missions today, and G'raha had finished his long before W'skhol's. Krile had shooed him off despite his insistence that he could stay and help with aught else. So G'raha had headed home to wait for W'skhol and to help Haurchefant, who had fully embraced househusband-ness now that things had calmed down for the most part. The peace never did last, but they'd enjoy it while it did.

"There he is, my inspiration," G'raha says loudly, glancing behind him into the foyer where Haurchefant was no doubt puttering about making them dinner, then beaming at W'skhol with a joyful flickering of his feline ears and a soft sway of his tail. "Welcome home, 'Skhol," he greets, steadying him as he bunts his head against W'skhol's and nuzzles their cheeks together, trailing sweet kisses over his face before he pulls the hero inside.

"'Raha," W'skhol replies simply. Yes, he was home. There was no place he'd rather be. Here he could rest, here he was loved. He could sink into the comfort and care of his lovers and they would take care of him.

Haurchefant perks up from behind the bar where he was preparing their dinner, wiping his hands on a rag as he hurries over still wearing his adorably ruffled apron around his waist, the long pieces of his silvery-blue hair pinned back with some of G'raha's spare hair pins. How these men could be so cute and sexy at the same time still baffled W'skhol.

"Welcome home, my dearest," Haurchefant murmurs, stroking a hand over W'skhol's hair and catching his chin between his thumb and pointer finger as he bends to kiss the hero hello.

W'skhol hums and purrs, leaning heavily into the man. Something smelled absolutely delicious, and it wasn't just the food that Haurchefant had prepared with so much love and care. "Smells good, my knight," W'skhol says, breathing deep and nuzzling his face into Haurchefant's soft shirt as Haurchefant embraces him. Mmm, he was so warm and he smelled so, so good. Underneath the smell of the food he had spent hours making, Haurchefant's scent shines through: clean, like the soft soap W'skhol favored, with just the right hint of his fancy Ishgardian cologne, and then just purely Haurchefant underneath that only those with keener noses would be able to smell.

W'skhol breathes him in deep, very nearly going limp as he nuzzles against him hard. Unf, he smelled so good that W'skhol wanted to lick him, maybe nibble a little, too. If he weren't so hungry he'd be stripping Haurchefant right this instant.

"Good, good," Haurchefant laughs, holding W'skhol upright in his arms. "Full glad am I to hear it. Raha told me your most recent mission finally ended today, and that was quite the task, so I have taken the time to prepare your favorites. Tonight we shall pamper you, dear heart." The elezen lord tells him, pressing a kiss between W'skhol's ears.

G'raha, feeling left out, embraces W'skhol from behind and grumbles, "I did try to help, but Haurchefant would not let me."

That was the ticket. W'skhol's eyes close in bliss, squashed, pinned between his two lovers as they hugged him firmly. Oh. Oh! A jolt goes up W'skhol's spine as he feels Raha grind against his backside, the other miqo'te obviously a little in the mood. W'skhol's eyes go hooded, pushing back in the press of Raha's hips and delighting in the little pleasured hiss that he elicits from him.

The former lord of Camp Dragonhead, seemingly none the wiser to their lustful interaction, tuts at G'raha, "You have done more than enough today, my dear Exarch."

G'raha flushes, ears twitching, the motions of his hips stalling. "How many times must I tell you that I am Exarch no longer? You needn't call me that anymore."

Haurchefant hums, reaching over W'skhol to rub one of G'raha's ears between his pointer finger and thumb. W'skhol feels G'raha's whole body shudder where the other miqo'te was pressed up against his back. "You may no longer be the leader of the Crystarium, my dear Raha," the elezen lord murmurs, "but by that title is how I first came to know you. Do forgive me if I still find that version of you just as endearing. Besides, is it not similar to 'Skhol calling me knight or lord when I have long retired from my post?"

W'skhol nods his head, making a throaty sound of happy agreement.

"See? Our lover agrees," Haurchefant says with a grin, laughing a little as G'raha huffs but makes no further argument. "Now, why don't you take our beloved to go get washed up while I finish preparing dinner? It shan't be too long. I suspect a bell, at least. Long enough for you two to fool around a little whilst still having time to get clean."

Ah, it seemed Haurchefant was not unaware of the horny antics of his lovers after all. So with a kiss on the head for each of his miqo'te lovers—and cheeky swats to their bottoms—Haurchefant sends them off to get clean, or frisky and then clean, however they decided it, and returns his attention to their dinner.

….

W'skhol's back presses up against the closed door to their bathing room as G'raha, ever the clever thief, takes the opportunity to steal more than one scorching kiss. The task of their getting naked is mostly taken into G'raha's hands as the historian does so between wandering hands and even more kisses.

"Bath, Raha," W'skhol says with a breathless laugh followed by a soft moan as the red haired miqo'te kissed, licked and nibbled down his neck. Raha's hands not idle either as he divested the blonde haired man of his trousers and promptly fondled him through his smalls, making the other miqo'te gasp as his hips thrust up into Raha's firm palm and squeezing fingers, his head thumped back against the door.

G'raha groans, tearing away from the other miqo'te for only the moments it took to plug the bath and start the water going. Then he is right back to it, lavishing the adventurer in attention as he worked his way down from his neck. Slowing as he kissed over the scars on the blonde's chest leftover from the corruption of light. He always did that, no matter how hot and heavy things were between them. As if he were apologizing with every kiss for putting W'skhol through what he had. Though even with that it is not long before he is back on track by kneading and sucking at W'skhol's chest, and then when he tires of that play, trailing his tongue down over his abdomen to the edge of his smalls.

W'skhol follows his trajectory with his gaze and a whimper as Raha, in one smooth motion, knelt at his feet and took his smalls with him to pool around his ankles. Raha tilted his head back to look into his face, his smug smile very much Exarch as he licked his hand with an obscene amount of saliva dripping from his tongue and took the blonde's partial hard-on in hand and stroked it until W'skhol stood tall.

Then he opened his full mouth wide and swallowed W'skhol's erection down till his nose was buried in blonde pubic hair. His hands went from bracing W'skhol's hips to cupping his backside, kneading the muscle there as he bobbed his head, accompanied by sounds much too lewd. W'skhol blushed up to his keen twitching ears that caught every sound, muffling his own sounds into his palm. The blonde nearly biting his own hand or tongue as Raha pulled the hero in by the two palmfulls he had of his muscled bottom to thrust into his mouth. W'skhol needed no further encouragement to bury his hands in G'raha's soft, unbound hair and tug at it as he rocked his hips forward and back, forward and back. The sounds he made in pleasure spilling free unrestrained, music to the redhead's ears.

It doesn't take long at all for the blonde's pleasure to build with how good G'raha was at this now. His mouth was perfect for it, hot and wet, the slightly raspy quality of his tongue. The way he sucked so hungrily, so greedily as if he wanted everything W'skhol had to offer with no intent of sharing with Haurchefant at all. It was too good, too good, too much…!

W'skhol gives a soft cry, clutching at G'raha's hair as the redhead wrings his first orgasm out of him through the talents of his mouth alone. Already having been tired and wobbly, the hero practically slumps into the other miqo'te as G'raha hops nimbly to his feet. He sure was spry. And smug, too, the way G'raha was licking at his lips like the cat that got the cream. His ruby eyes were alight with surely mischievous intentions.

Anything was fine with W'skhol as long as they'd be in time for dinner.

....

Somehow they manage to make it to the bath….

Though G'raha is still very much handsy as he lathers W'skhol up. Pawing at his arms, his chest, playing with the blonde's nipples as he rubbed up against the hero from behind. W'skhol leaned forward to grab at the edge of the tub as G'raha positioned his hips, happily allowing the other man to use his body to find his release. The blonde moaning out as his tail was grabbed and kneaded right at the base where he was sensitive. His head dropping down into the fold of his arms as the redhead's hands trailed away to kneading again at his backside, his fingers spanning wide to spread him open. The tip of G'raha's arousal bumping purposefully against his hole to make the hero arch and gasp as he slotted his length between W'skhol's cheeks.

"Lube," W'skhol reminds him even as he moans. It was something part of their bathing supplies since his two lovers were notoriously horny and often wont to ravish W'skhol in the bath.

"I have it," G'raha replies, and that is all the warning the blonde has before cold globs of the stuff drip onto him, Raha's fingers sliding through it and slicking the way for himself. Though mayhap he lingered a bit to rub and trace teasingly with the pads of two fingers over W'skhol's hole. Aught that makes the blonde miqo'te's tail shiver, twitch and flick.

"I want to eat dinner on time tonight," W'skhol says, not so much rushing him, as a reminder to the redhead not to linger overlong.

Still Raha sighs, smacking him lightly on one cheek and replying, "Patience is a virtue."

W'skhol flushes hot, squirming and mumbling, "Raha, I. Am. Hungry."

"Fine, fine. I'll be quick," the redhead huffs with good humor as he grasps two palms of W'skhol's bottom and squeezes them together for some friction for him to rut against. The redhead not holding back the sounds he made as he really got a rhythm going, moans and sighs to start; and then soft, breathy groans of, "'Skhol… ah…!"

W'skhol's fingers press into the tub, his breath speeding up as the sounds G'raha made in pleasure only excite him all over again. That, and the tip of his length that prodded against him, a tease that sent a thrill up his spine. There was hardly enough lube for that and he had yet to be properly prepped for penetration, but it still felt good.

The blonde very nearly puts dinner aside altogether to ask him to just get inside of him, but then G'raha's fingers dig into his skin and he growls throatily, "You're mine," and W'skhol forgets words entirely except for an emphatic, "yes!" as he's thrust against two, three, four more times before he feels G'raha's spend drip onto his back.

W'skhol sighs and starts to sit up when G'raha presses a hand to his back and pushes him back down. "We're not done yet," he purrs. "You'll be having both of us tonight, will you not? You always want that when you're feeling particularly stressed. We're happy to oblige you, of course, but as Haurchefant is busy, prepping you is left to me tonight."

Haurchefant would be disappointed, surely, as he very much enjoyed slowly working W'skhol open so he could take them both. The elezen lord loved to tease him, to work him into a needy haze of lust before giving him everything he wanted. It made W'skhol heated just thinking about it.

W'skhol ears twitch with the pop of the lube bottle, his breath hitching and hips wiggling. A moan spilling from his lips as Raha wraps a lube slicked fist around his arousal for the blonde miqo'te to thrust up into as G'raha prepares him for the pleasurable night to come.

….

Dinner is indeed W'skhol's favorite, the blonde miqo'te happily munching on just the perfect mound of miq'abobs as Haurchefant had taken one look at his clean, but unbrushed and still dripping hair and sat him down to groom him properly.

"You do your own hair perfectly well," Haurchefant says in mild scolding to G'raha as he blotted W'skhol's hair and ears with a towel and used an Ishgardian classified warming spell as he brushed through the rest of the dampness.

"'Skhol was worried we would be late for dinner," Raha mumbles, chewing carefully on his own skewer of miq'abob. His red hair was wrapped up in a towel, yet to be tended to. His tail dripping onto the wooden floors, much to the disapproving stare of Haurchefant who would be the one most likely to clean it up.

W'skhol blinks languidly, nodding his head with cheeks stuffed full of miq'abob. They'd almost been late because Raha had been particularly lustful, on top of making absolutely certain W'skhol had been well prepared. With two orgasms under his belt before dinner, a warm cup of calming catnip tea in his hands and Haurchefant slowly pulling a brush through his hair and rubbing his ears, W'skhol felt so good he could melt. Well, if not for the feeling of the large toy that was nestled inside him along with plenty of lube. It was good that W'skhol was used to it, else Raha might not have had enough time to do all they had done.

"Indeed. I will pretend to believe that the whole bell you took to bathe was spent merely enjoying the hot water," Haurchefant says with his typical level of cheer, gladly accepting a bite of the untouched miq'abob that G'raha offers from his other hand.

Being the generous man he is, he does the same for G'raha's hair as he had done for W'skhol's. Blotting it dry with the same towel and brushing it out with that same warming spell before braiding it in the redheads preferred style. Even going so far as to rub his ears, too.

"I can do my own tail," G'raha insists with a blush coloring his cheeks and the insides of his ears once Haurchefant finishes with his hair, plucking up a spare brush from their collection and brushing through the wet, tangled mass of his hair.

Haurchefant shrugs, chuckling and moving onto blotting W'skhol's tail without further comment. He gets mostly done, blotting and brushing, before a squeeze a smidge too close to the base of W'skhol's tail makes the blonde miqo'te freeze and visibly shudder as he moaned out loud.

Haurchefant pauses, paying closer attention to the way W'skhol was squirming and shifting in his seat as he squeezes the base of W'skhol's tail again, resulting in another moan from the hero. "Raha, did you prepare him without me?" The elezen lord asks, obviously sulky to have been left out of the fun that was one of his favorite things. "You know I adore opening him up and stuffing him full."

Raha's ears stand straight up, then lower guiltily, a blush coloring his cheeks that matched W'skhol's at how easily Haurchefant talked of sex. The historian may be 324 years old mentally, but the only sex he'd had was with the two people sitting at this table. "My apologies, Haurchefant. I thought it would be prudent to prepare him ahead of time as you were busy with dinner and 'Skhol and I have an early Scion meeting tomorrow morning."

Haurchefant sighs, tugging gently on W'skhol's tail as he kneads at the base, teasing W'skhol casually, mercilessly making the blonde miqo'te whine and squirm in his seat. Even as the lord's lower lip pokes out in a pout. "I suppose it cannot be helped," the lord says, abruptly letting go of the base of W'skhol's tail and returning to brushing him ever so gently. "Well, let us finish dinner. I'll just have to make up for neglecting my duties."

W'skhol pants heavily, cheeks flushed and his one good eye glazed with desire. He shakily reaches for another skewer, pacing himself so as not to rush and choke in his eagerness.

….

"You know the history books told tale of your generosity and benevolence, but you do have a bit of cruel streak in you, do you not?" G'raha grumbles, forced to stand in the corner and only watch until given permission as Haurchefant rubs W'skhol down with oil in his almost daily massage. One could say the elezen lord had an obsession with running his hands all over W'skhol's well-trained body. G'raha could hardly blame him with how fit and pleasing to the eye their blonde lover was, but Haurchefant took it to nearly obscene levels the way he got excited about it. It was something of a muscle fetish.

"Naughty boys do not get to make commentary," Haurchefant replies, a flush rising high on his cheeks and a passionate gleam in his eye as he ran his oil slicked hands over W'skhol's body. The blonde miqo'te was a puddle of pampered, if not incredibly turned on goo under the dedicated attentions of his elezen lover. He truly was blessed to have such attentive lovers in his life who adored spoiling him.

W'skhol purr is so loud it almost covers up the sound of Haurchefant's panting breath and murmured words of praise. Luckily W'skhol possessed keen enough ears to hear Haurchefant as the lord moaned, "Splendid��! You are magnificent... Ah, my heart, I love you so! Hahh, how I yearned to touch you as I do now the very first moment I bore witness to your display with my knights! Your hot breath mingling, your sweat sparkling on the coertan snow!"

G'raha shakes his head, just watching the two of them. How many times had Haurchefant repeated this? It seemed W'skhol did not tire of hearing it as much as Haurchefant did not tire of saying it. "I have not been a boy for a very long time. You are closer to boyhood than I," the redhead mutters. He had nearly three hundred years of life experience on the man, and he tired of waiting to have what he wanted.

Besides, W'skhol was already at his limit. Haurchefant had already massaged him front and back. At this point it was just teasing.

"Enough of this teasing," Raha says in a tone of voice that commanded attention. Haurchefant and W'skhol both looking towards him with surprise. "No more wasting time. W'skhol and I have an early morning, so will you not let us move on to the main event now, Haurchefant?"

Haurchefant sighs, ears lowering as his face falls. "I am sorry," the elezen lord says softly. "Twas not my intention to while away the time you have. 'Tis only that I have barely seen you or W'skhol for almost a week. I became overexcited, pray forgive me." G'raha feels instantly guilty the way W'skhol looked at him. The redheaded miqo'te often forgot that he was by W'skhol's side now more often than Haurchefant was. The elezen lord was only trying to make up for the time he did not see them, W'skhol and Raha both.

"No, I am sorry," Raha says, coming to join the two on the bed. "I should have realized you were feeling left out, and invited you to join in. Forgive me my impatience," the redhead miqo'te reaches out to touch the elezen lord's face, Haurchefant leaning into his hand with a smile.

"You are forgiven," Haurchefant says with a warm smile. Kissing the redhead's wrist and delighting in the way the miqo'te blushed. "You are right, besides," the lord adds, looking towards W'skhol who had sat up from his reclining position to embrace him and kiss his face. Aught that Haurchefant gladly accepts and happily returns. "Our mission tonight is to fully satisfy our lover, and you do not have all night if you wish to be rested for the morrow."

That said, the two of them focus their attention on W'skhol at once. The blonde miqo'te beaming and laughing as the two pounce on him. G'raha cupping W'skhol's face in his hands and focusing his attention on kissing the blonde breathless. Nipping and sucking at his lips and sliding his tongue between to kiss W'skhol deep as his hands stroked his face and rubbed his ears.

Haurchefant settles between W'skhol's spread thighs, his lips pressing hot and wet against the hero's arousal as his fingers reach down to fiddle with the toy nestled inside of him, pulling it out and pushing it back in to slowly edge the man as his kisses turned to flicks of his tongue. Even with this it did not seem the man was intending to allow W'skhol his release so easily. The wet, almost ticklish slide of his tongue more a tease, an afterthought as he fucked the miqo'te slow with the toy G'raha had worked so carefully inside of him during their bath.

W'skhol can do naught but moan and kiss Raha passionately. Helpless to the pleasurable joy of being ravished by two gorgeous men. It is a quarter of a bell of being kissed, and licked, and slowly fucked with a toy. G'raha eventually guiding his hand with a slathering of lube to ever so slowly glide over the redhead's erection. Not so much making the man cum as to prepare for the next event. W'skhol is greedy for more, however, and has his mouth around him by the next time Haurchefant looks over.

The elezen sighs, fondly exasperated. "You two are not unsimilar to a pair of honey-mooning sweethearts." Well, the lord could not blame them for being so. This technically was their honeymoon phase. They'd finally been reunited on the first, and after everything that had happened they'd become a threesome, and now back on the Source they were finally allowed plenty of time together without the world threatening to end again just yet. He'd had much more time by W'skhol's side than G'raha had. It was only fair that the former Exarch make up for the time they had lost while he was sleeping.

"Well, do not let me interrupt," Haurchefant says teasingly as his earlier words seemed to have fallen on deaf ears the way the two miqo'te were so immersed in one another. "I only thought that you desired both of us this night, my dear 'Skhol."

W'skhol's ears twitch, and the blonde pulls off Raha with a pop, giving Haurchefant his wide eyed attention. "I do!"

Haurchefant gives a smile meant for seducing, kissing W'skhol's thighs and nuzzling his face there. "Then will you not give me some attention, as well?"

As soon as W'skhol rapidly nods does he find himself dragged into Haurchefant's lap, the elezen man's legs folding underneath him as he wraps the blonde's legs around his waist and kisses him lazily. A distraction, it would seem, as the elezen suddenly pulls the toy nestled inside W'skhol free, making the hero gasp and clench down on the sudden emptiness inside of him.

The elezen glancing over the blonde's shoulder and saying to the approaching G'raha, "I believe you have seniority, my dear Exarch," as he kept W'skhol spread open for the other miqo'te to admire and prepare for.

(Though W'skhol was well used to both of them by now —and opened up by that large toy he liked— it did not mean his two lovers would not take the extra care to further ease the way. 'Twas most fortunate the men bought lubricant in bulk from a vendor they trusted, else they would be paying quite the shiny Gil for market prices for the amount they went through in a week alone.)

G'raha cannot even think to muster a sarcastic laugh at the dig at his age as he presses himself up against W'skhol's back, lining himself up with a hand on his cock to sink inside the blonde. The both of them moaning loudly as Haurchefant lowers him down until he bottoms out, the sound muffled on W'skhol's end as Haurchefantva again claims his lips for his own.

Haurchefant ever so generously helps the two of them along by lifting and dropping 'Skhol as Raha thrust upward, the redhead working up a flush as bright as his hair as he exerts himself. Nights like these were ones where 'Skhol needn't do anything at all except lay back and allow himself to be fucked senseless.

"More, Haurchefant," the hero demands between greedy, hungry kisses. Urging his elezen lover to again fill the space the toy had left. Having known that fullness, just having Raha inside him in this moment was not enough. W'skhol wanted more. He wanted, needed both of them.

Haurchefant chuckles, leaning the other miqo'te into G'raha's embrace as he took a moment to grab for the lube. He slicks himself down first, then slips his hand down to smear the excess along the rim of W'skhol's hole. His fingers slipping over where G'raha was still gently thrusting upwards, bouncing the blonde in his lap.

W'skhol's head drops back in a moan as Haurchefant presses in alongside the other man, filling the lustful miqo'te full. Just what he needed. To be sandwiched between them, their praise in his ears as they fucked the stress and worldly concern right out of him. He was only here, in this moment, being loved by the two men who he loved, who loved him.

Haurchefant is energetic as always, his enthusiastic praise washing over the hero. As ever he was like a ray of sunshine. Bright and warm. The sweetness of his words a contrast to the way he held W'skhol by the hips and gave it to him like he wanted to make certain the adventurer would be feeling him tomorrow. With how tall the elezen was, his cock was perfectly proportionate. Every snap of his hips filling the blonde deep.

G'raha, having gotten off already with W'skhol in the bath, was more measured. Patient. The rolling of his hips slow and easy. Where he lacked in length compared to Haurchefant, he more than made up in girth. With one hand he tugged at W'skhol's tail, squeezing the sensitive base as his other hand wanders over W'skhol's front. His touch is possessive, hot. Like the words he had growled in W'skhol's ear in the bath. You're mine. The heat of Raha's breath and lips on his skin makes him feel tingly, the press off his teeth is a hot surge of want pooling in his gut.

His lovers working up a rhythm with W'skhol pinned blissfully between them. Giving the hero no quarter as they push him steadily higher and higher. The grind and press of them both thrusting in and out rubbing against his prostate. It is so good W'skhol cannot think to respond to their praise in kind, let alone form words. He does make plenty of noise through moans, sighs, and pleasured cries.

Haurchefant is a gorgeous sight to gaze and focus upon with Raha at his back. The elezen flushed red, from cheeks to eartips and all the way down his throat. W'skhol reaches for him, kissing him deep as he cups his pointed ears in his hands and rubs them. Haurchefant groans into his mouth. W'skhol grins against his lips.

At least until Haurchefant reaches down to take him in hand. He'd barely been holding on to make it last, but as Haurchefant touches him just how he likes it, W'skhol loses the fight to stave off release.

It's a prickling feeling, and then it's stars. Orgasmic bliss. W'skhol goes taut, moaning long and loud as he clings to Haurchefant.

It is a chain reaction as he tightens down on the other two with Warrior of Lifght muscles. Haurchefant curses in Ishgardian, no doubt leaving the shape of his fingers on W'skhol's hips as he squeezes him tight, his eyes scrunching closed as he gasped out his lover's name.

Raha is the last to succumb, managing few more thrusts before he inevitably does give in. Slumping forward into 'Skhol as he caught his breath.

….

They lay in bed, still all entangled.

W'skhol does not want to get up, not yet. He wants to stay full and content like this a little longer. He does not want tonight to end and tomorrow to start.

Just a little while longer.

"Stay like this," he says as Haurchefant starts to move. Tangling his legs with the elezen's and wrapping Raha's arm tighter around his waist. "I just want to stay like this a while before we wash up."

Haurchefant blinks those pretty blue eyes and smiles at him, leaning in to kiss his lips. "As you wish."

"We have you," G'raha tells him, kissing up from his shoulder over his cheek to his lips.

"I love you," W'skhol says softly, his eyes closing. Smiling as Haurchefant and Raha whisper their love into his ears and kiss his hair.

Yes, yes.

This had been just what he needed.

….

Morning comes far too soon. Haurchefant rises the earliest as an old, long-standing habit of knighthood and heading out to freshen up for the day before starting on breakfast for the three of them. The lord eating as he cooked, and drinking a strong cup of Ishgardian proper tea that he kept stocked in their cupboards. He is humming a little tune to himself as the sound of his lover's footsteps come sleepily downstairs reach his ears.

"Hello, my loves," Haurchefant greets the sleepy miqo'te, the elezen bright eyed and bushy tailed to their still lingering tiredness. He hands them each a cup of their preferred morning beverages along with a loving smooch between their feline ears as they take a seat at the breakfast table. The lord finished cooking their breakfast just in time as he sets their plates in front of them.

Raha is the first to perk up, the redhead finishing his breakfast quickly. He always liked to do a bit of playing on the instruments they had in the house before starting the day. Today he chooses a harp, fiddling with it a bit as he plucks out a tune. Before long his voice fills the air, smooth and soft.

Haurchefant sets his empty cup aside and stands from his seat, looking to W'skhol as he extends his hand like a perfectly poised noble. "May I have this dance, my dearest?"

W'skhol smiles at him and gladly accepts the hand he offers. The lord walking him out to the open floor as the two dance to the tune of G'raha's song. The sound the harp coming to a pause as Haurchefant twirls W'skhol and offers G'raha his other hand. The redheaded miqo'te laughing and joining in, dancing with the other two. The two miqo'te ending up doing a mish-mash of the dances they knew. W'skhol, being a dancer, makes it look effortless.

Time flies by with their fun, and soon their morning together comes to a close. Haurchefant hand them both the lunch he had packed for them ahead of time the day before. He spends some time embracing each of them before he sends them off with well wishes to make their Scion meeting on time.

The elezen lord sighs, watching them go. The next adventure, he promises himself, he will not miss.

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2021

Prompt #25 - Hide Not Your Happiness

<Post Stormblood Patch 4.0 MSQ>

Silver Lining - ‘a sign of hope in an unfortunate or gloomy situation; a bright prospect’

————————————————————

The ring on her finger felt so heavy suddenly, and she twisted it back and forth as she paced the small area in the gardens of House Fortemps. Her feline ears could still pick up the sounds of the music coming from the open windows of the ballroom and the voices of the guests happily chatting and laughing within. She made sure she could not be seen from those bright windows for her absence would surely raise suspicion. It was her celebration after all, a party celebrating the Warrior of Light’s return to Ishgard after the victory in Ala Mhigo, and yet here she was, fretting and worrying to herself in the garden. Of course she had ample reason to worry. Tonight was the night they would tell them all.

It was the night she and Aymeric decided it was time to tell the world of their relationship as well as their engagement to be married.

They had kept it secret all this time to not raise unnecessary suspicion from anyone that she had ‘swayed the lord commander’s decisions with her wiles’ or any such thing as they had come together in the midst of the Dragonsong War, and once it was over, Ishgard needed to focus on its own healing, not the gossip about the First Seat of the House of Lords’s love life. No, she already had to put those still holding on to the past in their places when they spoke ill of him. She would not be another reason for them to do so.

And so they hid their relationship, hiding dinners and late night dates behind the gauze of diplomatic discussions and waiting until the dead of night to meet one another. It had been hard to hide their feelings at times, and so they settled on others knowing about their deep feelings for one another, yet never the truth that they were together. Not until now.

It had been the first thing he had said when Aymeric had knelt down in front of her, the setting sunlight sparkling in his eyes and crowning his head as she had looked into the warmth of his loving smile and said as he’d held her hand, “I want the world to know of us. I want our love to be on full display for all to see. For too long I have hidden it, and I want to show everyone just how proud of our love I am. How proud I am that you call me yours, and I call you mine.”

She would never forget those words, how she prayed to the Savoir that she never ever would forget the beauty of his speech and the love in his eyes that day. Yet even while this happiness bubbled in her heart, her hands trembled as her nerves still ruled over her body. Her ears fell flat on her head as she stared down at the silver ring and how it glistened in the moonlight, spinning it slightly as the dark sapphire stone that was set in it sparkled with the gold filigree that accented it. She sighed deeply and turned on her heel to pace the other direction again, the fallen snow on the ground sweeping into the air with the movement of the long skirt of her Ishgardian gown. Aymeric was probably looking for her, worrying where she might have gone. Her absence was sure to be noticed too by others, and she knew she would need to return to the party soon.

“Katsum? Is that you?”

But not just yet.

The blonde knightess’s tail fluffed slightly in surprise as she looked up and stopped in her tracks, quickly hiding her ringed hand under the other as she did her best to smile at the aged Count of the house, “Lord Edmont.”

Edmont was standing on the last step of the small set of stairs that descended into the little garden they stood in, looking at her curiously as he held his cane close to him. His thick furred coat had a few of the fallen snowflakes on it, meaning he had been standing there for at least a few minutes, and Katsum’s heart trembled as she wondered how long he had been watching her pace. Yet he merely smiled at her, regarding her with a gentle nod of his head, “Needed a moment away from the noise, yes? It can be rather overwhelming at times.”

Katsum quickly nodded in response, happy for the excuse he provided her, “Yes. I have quite a lot on my mind so I…needed a moment away to think.”

Edmont nodded, “You are a busy woman, a very sought after one as well. Though Ser Aymeric spoke of having news to share tonight which has me rather curious.”

He didn’t…did he

“Oh?”

“Yes, he mentioned it was some wonderful news, though it leaves me to wonder what better news can we get over the liberation of Ala Mhigo.” He chuckled, stepping down off the last step and standing before her now.

She did her best to smile and laugh with him, “That is true yes. I suppose we can only wonder. He did not mention anything to me as of late.” She hated lying, but the painful throb of fear in her chest gave her few options.

He seemed to think about that for a moment before he spoke again, “Actually, I am glad that you are here. I had come to do some thinking myself, but I would like the company of another for a moment or two if you wouldn’t mind?”

The knightess blinked as her insides shiver in worry, but she controlled herself and gave him a warm smile and a nod, “I’d be glad to.”

He nodded and led her to the stone bench that was settled in the middle of the garden, facing a small statuette of Halone surrounded by a snow-covered bush of red flowers. Katsum settled herself beside him on the bench after sweeping off the fallen snow, glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye.

Edmont stood his cane in front of him and settled both hands upon it as he gazed up at the moon, “A beautiful and peaceful night, yes? It reminds me of the first night and yours came to Ishgard. An uncommonly calm night that was, but I'm sure you know that by now.”

Katsum nodded, “I remember that night well.”

“It was that same night that I chanced to hear someone singing in the silence, and when I had opened the window, I found it was coming from one of the rooms upstairs, and the window to your room was open too,” Katsum froze in shock, yet Edmont seemed not to notice and smiled as he continued, “And while I listened, I noticed another figure walking along the late night streets and he too heard the singing and stopped to listen, enamored by its loving tune as I was. I was not sure at first who the man was, but when the moonlight caught his scaled regalia and the royal blue of his coat, it was hard not to see Ser Aymeric.”

Katsum was horrified. She had thought no one had seen or heard her that night, and now she knew that not only had Count Edmont heard her, but Aymeric had as well?

She locked gazes with the smiling count, and he laughed at the shock he saw there, “It’s alright, dear. I’m sorry to have spied on you, yet I noticed something else that night that neither of you did for quite a while I think.”

She blushed lightly with embarrassment as she looked down at her clasped hands, still hiding her ring finger and the glittering ring that encircled it, “And what would that be?”

“That you both of you had fallen for one another before you even knew what love was.”

Her ears stood straight up as her jaw fell, “My lord, that’s—!”

“May I see it?”

“..See what?”

“The ring, dear girl, the one you are hiding from me.”

Katsum’s sapphire eyes flew back to him before she looked down at where he held out his hand to her, gesturing for her own. With shaking fingers, she let go of her own hand and placed it gently in his, watching his gloved fingers clasp hers gently as he turned her hand and watched the ring gleam and shimmer in the night air.

Edmont smiled warmly, and breathed a deep and happy sigh, “How beautiful. And how happy I am for you both.”

“But…how did you…?”

“I was a boy once myself, Katsum. A boy who walked a similar path to Lord Aymeric’s. I know those longing looks and stolen glances. They were my own many not so long ago when I was young,” He let her hand go as she returned it to her lap and he leaned back on the bench, “I cannot say that all noticed, but I did. I could not help but notice.”

“I see…” She mumbled softly.

“So then I ask as I am rather worried. Why does it weigh on you so now? Are you not happy about being engaged to him?”

“Of course I am!” Her voice was a bit louder than she expected and spooked her slightly as she softly apologized and lowered her words so only he might hear her, just in case, “I am so joyous it is hard to contain at times. I’m marrying the man I love more than anyone after all, but…I worry. I worry what Ishgard might have to say of such things.” Edmont did not answer right away, looking to be in thought of this as she continued, finally just letting go of it all and laying it all bare, “Aymeric has been the subject of gossip all his life…and I fear that some would question him more if the woman who helped save Ishgard were to become his wife. Would they think I swayed his decisions with my…body…or something, or would they say I was stringing him along for a high seat of power in the nation? Would they call him a heretic for marrying a woman not of the same faith, and a miqo’te as well? I just…”

“Katsum,” Her voice died as he laid a hand on hers, “Stop.” She quieted, her sadness and worry showing itself in her face and eyes as she looked up at him. He sighed heavily before responding, “My people are a stubborn sort. Or should I say ours, yes? Your mother is of Ishgardian descent, or at least from the colonies. Not that it truly matters. You are right, some will question things, yet the same people will question if the people of the Brume should be allowed to speak about the issues of their own nation. The answer is undeniable yes, yet they will still question it. The point I mean to make by that is why let the words of these people stop you from being happy, hmm?”

Her ears fell as the truth she had been trying to tell herself finally rang through to her heart, happy to hear him continue as his voice chase away the seeds of doubt and worry, “You have done so much for this nation, putting your own life in the line to fight when so many of the noble folk have never stepped foot on the battlefield. Who could, in their right mind, question your marriage as being anything other than love truly? The only proof they could ever find is the amount of caring love you both hold for one another, always running to the other’s aid whenever it is needed. Yes, people will gossip in their jealousy, but Katsum, I say let them. You deserve this,” He laughed with the next words he spoke, “And by the Fury, I will see to it that one of my sons is happily married before I leave this world, I swear it.”

Katsum couldn’t stop the giggle that left her and it warmed her heart to see him smile so brightly in response. She looked down at the ring again, smiling at the blue gem as she breathed out the last of her anxieties, “You are too kind, my lord, truly…but thank you. Your words have helped me see the happiness again.”

“Good. Then show it here,” He pointed to her face as he tapped his cane on the stone path beneath their feet, “Show the world happy you are that your finger is lined with silver and gold, and the promise of forever.”

The blonde warrior nodded, “I shall.”

“Katsum? Lord Edmont? Are you out here?” The familiar ring of Aymeric’s deep voice called out over the hedges to them and the count moved to stand, holding out a hand to her to help her stand as well.

“Ah yes, it is quite time to return to the festivities, and high time you returned to your husband-to-be’s side, yes daughter?”

Katsum shook her head slightly with a laugh as she took his hand and rose to her feet, “Yes, I do believe so. We have joyous news to share after all, yes?”

He nodded, walking beside her up the path to the manor, making their way to where the Lord Commander stood waiting for them, “I thank you for your time and for listening to an old count’s ramblings as well, my lady.”

“Lord Edmont?”

“Yes, Lady Katsum?”

“Thank you. Thank you for easing my worries.”

“It was my pleasure, child.”

((Thank you, Stephen Critchlow, for the life you breathed into this character. The count shall always hold a special place in my and Katum’s heart, so thank you for the character your words and voice gave him.))

[usagi-mitsu]

Werlyt & Gaius - a bunch of thoughts.

I am a little late to the party. I know. But I just finished the Emerald weapon and before I go to try out the „not Zenos“ weapon as in „Diamond“, I need to get my thoughts on the story straight.

Perhaps I have been spoiled by 5.0s brilliant MSQ and cannot appreciate the inherent beauty of at least decent writing any longer. But this felt so wrong and out of tune with the rest of the game. I started writing this 2 hours ago! I wanted to one in bed by now! XD But I had to get it out of my system… so….

Spoilers for the MSQ and Werlyt incoming??? And no I did not re-read this so not just spoilers but also writing errors incoming. -.-

The good

These fights are epic! I have only ever cleared the normal versions, but I loved those. They are amazing. The callbacks to Eula (her being a woman here! When did they discover that???), Regula (may he rest in peace) and Gaius himself in his prime were delightful. But I could do with a little less rotating, ok? A dragoon has positional, you know? And being allowed to pilot my very own mecha was like *chefs kiss*. On that front? Well done Square Enix!

I am also glad they were able to get another use out of Porta Praetora! That place looks amazing with the wide open field and the lake – and Ala Mhigo across it. It was one of my favourite Stormblood areas and I am always glad to return there. And of course… being able to visit the allied camp again… And Werlyt itself. It’s simply a beautiful place. It reminds me very much of southern Greece. If you’ve watched the movie Mamma Mia you know what I mean.

The music too was really nice. But I don’t think I’ll… you know… listen to it on repeat as I am doing with other parts of the soundtrack.

I’ve also loved how much amazing lore we got about Garlemald and especially the garlean military. And the military abroad. The way soldiers not from the mainland get treated. I love learning about these things.

Gaius

The man. The legend. The guy yelling in Prae.

He’s so very boring here. He has so much potential as a character and maybe I’m missing something, but all throughout this story he has been nothing but passive. He’s a reactive character in this storyline. You know. The guy who made deals with Lahabread (the d is intended), tried to take over Eorzea, lead a whole army, stood idly by as the moon dropped, almost died but then decided just not to die and then though „hm… I’ve got so much freetime now. How about I go and hunt some ascians?“ That guy is NOT a reactive character. He is active. He goes out of his way to make shit he wants happen. And in here? He seems too starstruck and devastated by his adopted kids actions to actually have one clear thought.

The only explanation I have is that he might have gotten hit in the head by something on his way to the ruby weapon. I get why he would rely on Cid for help, but the WoL??? The alliance? If you wish to be an ally and help or something, fucking act like it. You were a former legatus and I expect you to live up to your name – even after retiring.

And yeah.. I guess it’s hard having to watch your kids willingly, knowingly dying. But you fucking raised them. You are a big part of the reason to why they are in that predicament. So like… Aside from that I don’t even get why you are in this story at all.

And for the record: I’m not sorry for him. I’m just flabbergasted by all the bullshit we’ve been learning about him.

To be quite honest, I think this story could have worked just as well or maybe even better, if we got another man as the „hero“ of the story. I am talking about none other than our engineering, hammer-swinging, ex-enemy - of course talking about Nero!

The MSQ has long established that his research into the Ultimate Weapon had been taken, twisted and turned – Estinien had to experience this first-hand. I’m not saying that Nero was in need of a redemption arc and I cannot remember if these weapons were of his creation or even stem from anything he did, but it would make so much more sense for me, to have him confront his past in the garlean military like this and be responsible for the death of his former colleagues. Soldiers that he served with, whom he faught with. Give me Nero and them working together to get the weapons going and him bonding with them as his pilots to a degree. Comrades. Not that strange familiar bond that Gaius appareantly has with them. … Scratch that: Let Gaius be the father figure. Him being that wouldn’t change Nero’s relationship with them, but maybe his with Gaius as his superior.

The story wouldn’t even need to try and redeem Nero: He has already gone through major character development with the MSQ and the Omega raid tier. It would simply be Nero, confronted with the things he created, hopefully instilling more morals and a sense of responsibility for his creations. Heck: Let Cid yell at the guy! Seriously! Cid sticking around to help out would make so much more sense if it was Nero instead of freaking Gaius! Cid hated the guy! He might be a professional, but he is not one to torture himself by staying around a guy he (as far as I know) detests.

Make Nero the central figure and give Cid and Gaius the roles of „angel and demon“: One desperately trying to reach out to his old friend, reminding him why they became engineers and trying to make him realise that he can’t just run around designing weapons and leaving the scematics for everyone to read; while the other has trouble letting go of his imperial past and is struggling to see the errors of his ways – if Nero was wrong, than he (Gaius) was wrong too -and of course they did all of this for their home, to further their cause, and to bring peace to the savage lands of Eorzea, who had been fighting amongst themselves for so long… You get the point.

And you could still have these gundam themed fights. But I think everything would make so much more sense in general.

But speaking of which-

The children

I do not truly care for any of them. And that is a shame: I do think there are great characters and dynamics hidden behind these very few cutscenes. When they were first introduced I was wondering why I was suddenly watching „heartwarming“ cutscenes of my foes as children – until I realised that I was supposed to care and that they were supposed to make me feel pity for Gaius. I was supposed to feel bad for him, because they died and he blames himself. But while their fates so far have been gruesome, I cannot say that I am sad they died. They chose to die as they did. There were a myriad more options. And they chose that.

Actually. Their whole story makes me feel like they were huge masochist from the very beginning. They could have just run away and gotten help from someone more competent than them, but they stayed in an abusive military arrangement just so nobody else got hurt?? Please. Use your brains next time. And for the Berserk-like torture scene? I mean. I get what was implied here. But was it necessary? As a writer myself I follow the rule that torture and sexual violence should never be used in a story, unless it must be in there for the story to work or to bring across a vital point important to the story or it’s moral (or if you are writing porn and you are into it – but we are talking official in-game content here). But the violence towards these „children“ seems unnecessary for the plot and the violence of their deaths by piloting the weapons is already gruesome enough. Sometimes it’s better to leave things like this out – the emotional torture of feeling stuck and having a martyrs complex would have been enough here, I think. If the rest of the story had been well written at least.

(I believe my utter lack of sympathy shows how little character developement they had. I love tragic characters, who choose to suffer for the good of other people – even better if those people don’t even like them. It’s just my thing. And those kids are just… well.)

Their reasons and especially why they were making Allie out as the one who would need to survive was also just… weird. Like. I feel like 75% of what happened would not have happened, if they actually talked to each other, used their brains and had done something about their problems. But no…

These characters are also so exchangeable with basic anime/j-RPG character tropes… I only remember Alfonse, Rex and Allie – because I just did the Emerald weapon. And right afterwards I thought, „huh. So… Fullmetal Alchemist?“ Which brings me to my third point …

…the story at large.

„Pacing is a virtue“ or was it patience..? Anyhow: The author of this story should have had more patience with his story and characters and taken a bloody break! And I am not talking about the obvious blunder of „How is Allie feeling?“, „she is in shock and you cannot talk to her“ turning to „oh yeah if you are careful you can talk to her now“. I mean. WTF. That was MAYBE 10-20 in-game minutes of dialogue.

But everything was moving so very fast – and not even in a good way. There are few things better than a fast paced, action rich story about a group of young people trying to safe (their) world. But if you try to cram in two expansions worth of character development and story telling into about two hours of content each patch.. Well, then you get whatever the hell this is.

Gaius is a very interesting character and while I did not understand why they needed to bring him back in 4.4 (?), I do see how he could be a good asset for endwalker. And his involvement in 5.0 with Estinien was just a dear delight. So I am not opposed to learning more about him, to watching his character grow and changed with time. But I am not ready for badly written content of which 50% get told by suddenly induced echo-sequences. I mean – weren’t there rules for the echo at some point???

I’m not sure which one of the devs said it, but the feature that let’s you play an NPC is super convenient for them to tell the story, because before they could only show what happened where the WoL was.

And that’s just it. Rule number 1 in writing anything is „Show don’t tell“. It feels like they literally turned this one around for these cutscenes. While Valens torture and diet-Fandaniel-routine were very much „show“, the rest of the story was one long cutscene of exposition: We get exposition by Cid, by Gaius, by echo, by Gaius and his crew again, then by Allie. Before having to watch scenes we are not there for.

BTW. Dear square Enix: Your writers are capable of writing amazing villains, antagonist and despicable assholes. You don’t have to write „asshole, must die“ on Valens name card. And I also think the „WoL, strike here“ sign above his head was a tad bit too much. Nuance, dear writers. Nuance. Or perhaps I just got spoiled by these last few foes in the MSQ.

When I said I wanted to just be able to punch a bad guy for once and not feel bad about it, I did not mean this! I meant that I just wanted to play training dummy with Danny-Boy.

(Oh! And as far as I’m concerned you can just… sideline Gaius … „would be killer“ and the lady? Make them targetable NPCs with Dialoge to read. Let them stand somewhere accessible and comment on the latest developement. But ffs don’t give me hour long speeches about how you are going to kill Gaius if he does something you don’t like. The guy could and would wipe the floor with you if he felt like it. -.- So. Please. Shut up.)

Conclusion

Basically. I have to finish the Diamond weapon. But I doubt it will change my perception of this story line even in the slightest.

To be perfectly honest though … bringing Gaius back, having this story with and about him, forcing a sort of redemption ark here. It feels like they are really „grooming“ him to be a morally grey ally in Endwalker, with perhaps a big part to play in the endgame. At this point I wouldn’t even be surprised if they pulled a GoT and made him „King in the North“. Or if they had him die a heroic death to save the world, but especially his country. And to do so they need us to think his sacrifice means something. Or that he is the right person to lead Garlemald into a new future (I don’t think he is). But: For one, neither we (the players) nor the characters need to find him worthy of throne or death by heroism for his sacrifice/ascension to work. To be a useful tool for the story, only the other garleans who might oppose the alliance and scions need to deem him or his sacrifice „worthy“. And only they. And Ishikawa-san has all of 6.0 to accomplish whatever the hell she needs him for. He did not need to be the center of his own botched redemption ark. If that’s what they wanted to do. Or maybe I’m looking at this all wrong and all they wanted was to give the writes in training some literal training grounds to test their abilities.

But! On a positive note: I have yet to be told that raids and other side content are canon to any degree. So when playing the next story quests I’ll blissfully ignore all that happened in Werlyt and if it get’s mentioned (because they do that sometimes when you’ve done certain content) I’ll just ignore it.

Happy ignoring! Also: GIVE ME MORE NERO CONTENT!

[karoiseka]

Bow

((Okay.  C’mon.  This is me with Karo here.  You KNOW which way I was gonna pronounce/interpret this word...  Anyways, I was gonna do this just simple thing where I had Karo as my main “narrator” going through things... and then... well.  Seirlait said no.  He said his turn.  So.  Some more Karo backstory, and Dads backstory too.))

Seirlait looked at the tiny bow in his hands and again wondered why he had traded for it in the last town they were in.  Feo had been teaching Karo reading and numbers, not to mention introducing her to the tales that he so loved in book format.  Her thirst for knowledge was strong and he wanted to encourage that as much as possible, but she had also been asking about hunting with him.  He had put it off, waiting until he was positive that it was something she wanted to learn, but she had been sneaking out to watch him practice, or just using the excuse to sit outside the wagon as he set up his targets.  His bow was almost as tall as she was, but, despite that Seir had caught her holding it on more than one occasion, tugging gently on the bowstring, eyes wide at how taut it was.

He had found a seller with a Lalafell sized bow--not too hard on the pull--and bought it, hiding it in his pack.  She wasn’t much taller than most grown people of that race, and he didn’t want to get her something too soft.  If she couldn’t pull it, she’d do chores to grow into it.  He had gotten a collection of arrows to fit it as well, and laid it in her chair for when she awoke in the morning.  She might not realize, but it had been a year since he found her in the clearing, alone and forgotten.  All their lives had changed so much in so little time, and she had blossomed in their care, growing towards the bright sunny future.

Many years later, the small kitten had grown into a lithe teen, the blue in her hair more pronounced, and tan facial markings darkening with time.  Karo had taken to the bow as if she had been born with one in her hand, an equal to his hunting skills after her years of training.  Together they took on small bounties and hunted for those that couldn’t for coin, helping to augment their trading and adding pelts and meat to sell.  She had long graduated her starter bow, and now carried a short bow well suited for the forests the mainly hunted in.  Despite being a natural, if they were out together, she still looked to him for guidance though and approval, finding his eyes after every shot to make sure she had done well.  He thanked the Twelve that she hadn’t lost her thirst for knowledge either, days filled with hunting and evenings filled with learning.

It all hadn’t been smooth sailing, several winters were very lean having to be creative with their stores and food, and there had been one that they had to forego staying in the cabin altogether, staying on the road going far south into Thanalan hoping for the warmer weather to stave off the ill fortune of that year.  There were the normal storms, rocky patches, and growing pains as well, though they all came together in the end.  And she continued to grow.

The short wooden bow was gripped with white-knuckles as tears streamed down three broken faces.  They had arrived back after five long years away--traveling all over, giving succor where able and learning the new pathways and ways of the world after disaster had struck and torn all asunder.  The last thing Seirlait and Feophaux expected to be confronted with when they joyously made their way back to their home was the stranger in their daughter’s body.  Blue eyes held no recognition, wondering who they were as they invaded her haven from the outer world.  They had tried to reconcile, tried to make her remember, each moment, each sun bringing more pain.  A small pack was slung over her shoulder, bow in hand as she fled--no memories to help her on her path, no desire to remain a moment more.  The men clung to each other, distraught, but knowing nothing else to do but let her go--their precious daughter they could no longer protect.

The silver trimmed with deep blue gems called to Seir as his hand hovered over beautiful trimming on the sting bow.  They had come, traveling further than ever with the rumors of the Warrior of Light being in the area, but were about to flee again with actually looking for her--again.  The fear of the unseeing, unrecognizing eyes glancing over them was almost more painful than not seeing her at all. They had found that plenty of the people in the rebuilt outpost knew and loved their daughter--which did not surprise them.  Seir looked over at Feo, and dug out most of their funds, paying off the balance of the beautiful bow that could help keep her safe.  Next time she was there, the bow would be her's, and they could sleep just a little better.  

They were able to pull the trick off of funding her a better weapon one more time, just before the battle at Ghimlyt Dark.  The exotic bow that she had started paying on was fashioned with a dragon in the Doma style, and they knew she had spent plenty of time there the past couple of years freeing the people there.  It was hard to picture their little girl pulling such an obvious weapon of war instead of a hunting bow made for practicality.  It mattered naught if it kept her safe.  They could hear commotion at the tunnel leading to the lands toward Ala Mhigo, and they fled back to the Shroud as fast as their Chocobos were willing to go--once more fearful of eyes that would see right through them.  They would linger though, helping these desperate people rebuild as best they could.  They had already brought a wagon full of travelers--refugees--from Little Ala Mhigo in the south of Thanalan back to their homeland.  It didn’t pay much--but that’s not why they did it.  

To be able to help her, in the slightest way, to help those that she helped as well and hear the first hand tales of those that she had sat and talked with, made a difference to.  It was all they could have for now, and would take with both hands as best they could until she came back to them.  A letter sat, forlorn and full of hope, ready to be found it time brought her back home when they weren’t there--a reminder of their love of her that never waned.

[allycryz]

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

Thancred x Nerys (WoL) x Emet-Selch / Thancred x Nerys / Emet-Selch x Nerys / Some Thancred x Emet-Selch

When Nerys made the mistake of telling Emet-Selch to surprise her, this is not what she had in mind.

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

(A lot of other ships mentioned/discussed, primarily Nerys x Haurchefant and Nerys x Estinien x Aymeric)

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

Prompts Used: Hot Springs in Winter / Restraints / Double Penetration Other Tags: Minor Breathplay in the water, Shaping Aether into Extra Hands, Brief Food Mention

Meta Notes:

This is currently not-canon in the general, overarching sense, but everything that happens prior to Nerys entering the hot springs is canon. 

Prelude

Beneath the thickest canopy of trees, Nerys can ignore the great and terrible light above. Pretend she is in the Shroud again. There are Duskwight waiting among the Night’s Blessed for her to return with supplies and reports. Never mind that it’s a name they don’t recognize. The elves of the First separate themselves by region and family, not clan.

Many of Night’s Blessed look like the faces she grew up with. It has...been a long time since she was with such a group. Visiting her parents and Uncle Vaquelin had been lovely, but brief. And that was so long ago now. Before Doma, before Gyr Abania, before Minfilia came here with Ardbert and his companions.

The memory of that long-ago visit conjures Haurchefant, who she had brought with her. Her family loved him–how could they not? It makes her miss him all the more. Their too-brief, too-scarce meetings since her arrival are not enough.

She leaves the nostalgia and safety of the trees behind along with her brooding. People are expecting her. A truth no matter what world she lives on, whether they call her Warrior of Darkness or Light. Nerys is thankful this place doesn’t also remind her of Ishgard. Then the homesickness might turn her brooding into outright tears.

Now. Collecting reeds for the girl’s basket. They should be due south from here.

“Far be it from me to meddle…” Emet-Selch materializes beside her, as if picking up a prior conversation. “But my curiosity outweighs my desire to see where ‘the chips do fall’.”

Nerys turns her gaze toward him without breaking her stride. Last time he did this, she was picking berries and near fell over into the dirt. “Saying ‘far be it from me to meddle’ does not cancel out any subsequent meddling, you know.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I expected my company to be polite enough not to mention it. More fool me.”

“What do I know about manners?” She cannot help herself. Maybe it is the pleased, attractive smirk whenever she says something diverting. Maybe she is tired of all the misfortune around them and needs levity. “I am but a simple warrior, a weapon of brute strength raised in the woods.”

“Self-deprecation does you no favors, my dear. Even when it is clear you know it’s all rubbish.” He waves a hand. “You are among the politest of my enemies.”

“Thank you?”

“Mm. I can be generous.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Now, about my query. Tell me...which suitor do you think will win out?”

That almost makes her stumble. And she can tell from his expression, he is reliving when she almost fell upon her basket of berries. A rare mishap from her that he will never, ever let her forget. “I...beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg for it, this one is free,” says Emet. His tone is insinuating as ever on that point. “You clearly carry torches for both Masters Waters and Matoya. I get the impression he was your lover at one time? The outline I have of your activities before the Exarch summoned you does not include the gritty details. As for her, only the Hrothgar moons after her more than you do.”

Nerys opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You truly have been watching, haven’t you?”

“Oh not everything. Mortals are not so difficult to read, once you have practice. And your eyes…” He catches her chin, directing his gaze into hers. “They are terribly expressive, once you know what to look for.”

Emet-Selch wants a reaction. She puts her hands on her hips, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. As if his thumb isn’t stroking over her jaw, gentle as a lover. The touch as stirring as when he graces her with a particularly enticing smile.

“Now...” He does not need her permission to continue so she doesn’t give it. Clearly, this is a soliloquy he wants to perform. “I am not sure you know how many carry a torch for you, and I shan’t spoil it by telling you. But it does make things interesting. Not to mention, this Lord Haurchefant your group often mentions. Shall you abandon your noble suitor for a rogue posing as a knight? Or for a scholar of great and terrible power? Will one of the yet undeclared reveal themselves and win the hero’s heart?”

That heart thuds painfully against her chest. The way he shapes his syllables charges each provoking word. And the directness of those wine-gold eyes, a shade paler than her own but no less piercing for it.

He has gotten so much of it wrong. That does not negate how easily he has gotten so much of it right.

Nerys curls her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand down. Emet-Selch does not resist, though when their hands are navel-level he twists just so, clasping her wrist in return, They remain locked thus, neither one letting go.

“Surely one as ancient as you, as easily bored as you,” she says. “Must know there are other options.”

“I don’t think a vow of chastity would suit you. Your eyes run too hot upon your comrades-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” she continues. “He is my lover and my beloved. Were I the marrying kind, his ring would be on my finger. That would not stop either of us from sharing physical and emotional intimacy with others.”

Emet-Selch says not a word, betrays no emotion. He does not veer into patronizing congratulations or arrogant dismissal. That same thumb begins to stroke again, over her gauntlet.

“There are others in the Source with such arrangements. I’m delighted to know it’s fairly common in the First.” Nerys cannot resist her smirk. Is this how he feels when he lectures her? “For some, it is about a variety of sexual partners. Sometimes it’s like that for us. More often...we are the kind to fall madly for someone or someones, in addition to wanting the physical parts. So whatever may happen...it is not a matter of winning.”

“Well,” he says, looking at her as if for the first time. Considering.

“Well,” he says again, with a slow smile. “You are full of surprises, my dear. I thank you for not being as boring as I expected.”

“Accuse me of many things, but never that.” Nerys takes a step back, breaking the link of their hands. “But I don’t think my expansive heart is my most unique quality.”

“On that, at least, we agree.” His enigmatic smile inflames just the right amount of curiosity in her. She resists best as she can. “Well, that puts to rest one of my little games. No reason to stay and help you...what is it again? Collecting reeds so a girl may make a basket?”

“Yes, that,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“Oh, I am not so starved for stimulation to partake.” Purple and black aether swirls around his ankles. “Whistle for me, when you’re doing something actually worthy of a hero.”

“No need,” she says. “Somehow, I think you’ll know.”

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

In one motion: she slams the book shut, jumps up, has the knife pointed and ready. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, as bright as his gaze as he sighs at her.

"Really," says Emet-Selch. "I thought we were past this stage."

They were. They are. It doesn’t change that Eulmore is an ever looming spectre at their heels. That this pressure on her chest and shoulders is building. For their last few talks, Ardbert has made sure to catch her attention well before speaking.

She keeps thinking Ran’jit is about to appear and cut her down.

Nerys exhales a breath, blade staying poised for the moment. “Do you always startle trained warriors?"

“Only you, hero.” He touches the pad of his gloved finger against the dagger point. “This is not so beautiful a weapon as your lance."

"A lance is a little more difficult to keep close at all times." It is, in fact, leaning against the wall of her room. Just behind him. By the way his eyes flicker to the side and then to her, he knows it.

They are well past when she might run for it, and brandish it at him. The gaze feels so much like a challenge though, she contemplates it. He wouldn’t expect her to start a physical fight after weeks of banter.

Nerys withdraws the blade.

“It is a well-made little knife. A gift?  I don't recall seeing it on you before."

"I always keep a dagger on me, one never knows when an ambush is coming." She slides it back in the sheath, touch lingering on the deep-plum leather of the hilt. "...But yes, this is new."

"I thought so. From Thancred no doubt, as he has been lavishing attention on you as of late." He steps away, spreading his arms. "He was the paramour I expected to win. At least until you explained that you don't limit yourself to just one."

His words conjure visceral memories without much effort. Her tender, still-aching reconciliation with Thancred at the start of this week. What they could have had in Ala Mhigo had the Exarch not spirited him away the day they meant to talk.

But also, the day in the Rak’tika Greatwood with Emet-Selch. His teasing about the choice she would “have” to make. Her defiant lecture. His fingers on her chin and on her wrist.

"Over Y'shtola, you mean?" She leans her back against the desk, arms crossed. "Or the other admirers you claim I have? Which are who, exactly?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he says with a wag of a finger. His pale gold eyes and wicked mouth brim with laughter. "You will have to try much harder than that to get my secrets."

“Does that mean you won’t explain what ‘alone at last’ means?”

"That one should be obvious, my dear." He remains apart from her but his gaze feel like a touch. Like a stroke of hand over her arm or cheek.

Attraction is like that. And she is adult enough to admit he is attractive–painfully so–without it needing to be a problem. It doesn’t change who they are or that one day, she may need to face him on the battlefield.

(Nerys had been able to face Estinien and Thancred both after all. Though unlike them, this man’s mind is his own. She is certain Zodiark’s pull is not the same as Lahabrea’s or Nidhogg’s.)

"I have been busy of late,” she says. “But surely there are others you might visit."

"None of your Scions will play with me the way you will," he pouts. "Even your scholarly Elezen friend will only suffer me so long."

Nerys laughs. "Who says I am willing to play with you? Or that is what we do?"

Emet-Selch’s expression reminds her of Aymeric’s cat, affronted over Nerys taking his spot upon the chaise lounge that one time. Unlike Sainte, he does not stomp away with a disgruntled noise. “I have never lied to you. Do me the favor of not lying to me.”

"Never?" She asks without real conviction. Nerys is certain he has not lied to her or anyone in their group. Omitted, yes. Likely a great deal.

“Never.” Emet-Selch crosses the space, moving close to her. The fur of his jacket brushes against the front of her gray linen gown. He leans in, leans in, his breath tickles her face and she tries not to give him the reaction he seeks.

He gets so close his lips graze her cheek and she breaks, breath hitching. And then he leans past her, reaching behind to take up the book she closed. "Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland. I admit, I expected something related to your quest."

His face is hidden but she feels his smirk as keenly as she feels the heat of his body against her. "I needed a little break and stories always cheer me. I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes into her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

Don't shiver. Don't react. "Why not have the stories both ways?"

His chuckle is low. "Why not indeed. You do not like to make choices, do you?"

"It isn't that." Her arms remain folded against her chest. Still, if someone were to come in they would think something else was happening. And that would not be a full lie.

On impulse, her eyes flicker about to make sure Ardbert isn't there.

"Too many people reduce life to hard, either-or decisions," she says. "And I have found there is almost always a third or fourth or fifth way."

"An optimist. How very…" Emet-Selch pulls back to look at her. Sighs. "Very boring. I expected better, given all the pathos I have seen in your eyes."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She turns towards the book, straightening her disrupted papers.

His hands come down on either side of her, balancing against the gentle curve of the desk edge. She is caged, with his breath upon her nape and his body a wall of flame grazing her back. Nerys has managed this session to not rise to his bait, but her resolve is weakening and this does not help.

Attraction does not have to mean anything. You have the will, to have it be a simple fact; not a catalyst or excuse.

"Come now,” he murmurs. His nose tickles the back of her neck. The skin there is extra sensitive; hair freshly trimmed to the new, shorter length. “You have a better retort than that."

"You think so? Maybe you're the optimist."

His laugh is a puff of air upon her. "Better, but still sloppy. I expect more from my playmate."

She wants to argue that point but he has already exposed her defense for the lie it is. Call it play or teasing, Nerys does enjoy these times. When she might pretend he is just a handsome man come only for banter; not...whatever they are to each other or will be.

She enjoys him.

Her eyes flicker to the window. Fading sunlight catches the light fall of snow, the first in a long time for Lakeland. It pulls at her heart for another reason: terrible homesickness for Ishgard. And the position of the sun now means-

"I have to cut this ‘play session’ short. I'm expected elsewhere." Nerys turns in the cage of his arms and gives him a gentle push. "And you're not allowed to be in my room when I am gone."

"Spoilsport. Whatever do you expect me to do? Languish in waiting?"

Her way cleared, Nerys moves past him to the bag she packed earlier. Just a small thing with the necessities for this jaunt...and if she doesn’t sleep in her room tonight. "I know you'll think of something. Surprise me."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Too late, his smirk is wide, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I can do that.”

He disappears in a swirl of aether. Nerys wonders if she made a fatal error.

---------

Amaros fly them to the Ostall Imperative. From there, she and Thancred walk the forest path. The creatures of the lilac-and-bone-colored forest keep their distance tonight, many hiding from the strange weather. They still need to be alert though, lest they or brigands cross the path.

Even still, she keeps having to look at him. Assure herself he is there, with her. Truly with her. Their hands brush together once, twice, three times before he at last laces their fingers together. Smiles up at her with a look that stills her breath no matter how many times it happens.

She has loved him...a long time. Grieved him in different ways for different reasons for a long time. And now here he is, having asked for another chance and she hopes this week is not a long, wishful dream.

“It’s never snowed while you’ve been here?” Nerys asks, using her free hand to dust the flakes off her shoulders. Five long years here, under the horrible light. She cannot imagine. No wonder he felt like a stranger when first they found each other in Laxan Loft.

"Not that I've seen. You've brought balance back to the place."

"We have, not just I." She squeezes his hand.

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

He cups her cheek, tugging her down into a kiss. Deep and soft and intoxicating. All week he has caressed her like this, each time overwhelming her with the gentle sensuality of it. She can almost forgive him doing it just to win an argument. Almost, until she pulls back and sees the old familiar gleam, the old familiar smirk.

"You can't...do that every time." Nerys says, a little breathless. Hands still gripping the supple material of his coat like a lifeline.

"I would never. Only some of the time." His smirk grows. Twelve, but she missed that expression on his face. Not that she loves this new, more serious Thancred any less. Every part of him, every facet, she adores. "Though, I think I need to do it once more."

Never mind whoever waits for them. Now that she can touch him like this again, feel him like this again, she never wants to stop. And from the way his hands grip her, run over her sides and hips, he doesn't either. She presses herself close to him, lips tracing the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear.

Thancred pulls himself back, eyes hot. "If we don't start walking again, I'm going to drag you into the bushes."

She doesn't move. "That isn't incentive to walk."

"I should have known better." He holds out a hand and she takes it, surprised when he starts down the path again. “Come along.”

He must want this date to happen as planned. Thinking about it...they have not had many formal engagements like this. They were either comrades or they were lovers. Maybe there would be a trip to the market or a shared drink in Revenant’s Toll between battles and bed.

Nerys wonders if he might be inspired to poetry, like he had once with his other paramours. Not all of his couplets were groanworthy.

Bosta-Bea awaits them at Clearmelt, her smile wide and welcoming. The sign near her declares that the springs closed at sundown. That alone means Thancred put down a lot of coin for this. Bosta-Bea’s excellent humor doubly verifies it.

“I’ll be just inside if anyone tries to bother you,” she says after greetings and pleasantries are exchanged. “I doubt anyone will but just in case…”

“My thanks,” says Thancred. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet and he squeezes it while he speaks. “The changing rooms are just through there?”

“Yes, with towels to use in the bath.” Bosta-Bea ushers them through to the first room. It’s filled with large stalls that each contain shower, changing room, and locker. Everything hums with magic, likely a number of convenience charms throughout to dry hair and keep belongings safe.

In her own stall, Nerys strips away her leathers. The cool air of the new winter prickles over her skin until she can get under the hot water, rinsing the day off. She is still not used to washing shorter hair. Her hands reach for phantom length to lather with shampoo.

Nerys misses her curls. The haircut was necessary. For catharsis: chopping away locks that held memories of the past moons. For symbolism: starting again, refusing to let grief weigh her down.

And she did it in the city she calls home. Jandelaine paid a house call to the Fortemps Manor. Lord Edmont tried not to hover. Artoirel did hover, repeating questions and bringing her cups of tea and plates of orange-cardamom shortbread.

The hole in her heart began to scab over, the patch knit in tandem with her brother and second father; her friend wielding his scissors; and all Aymeric and Estinien did for her and with her the days and nights following her rescue from the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

Nerys is glad she did it.

Even still, she misses the length and the curl. Hasn’t acclimated to the change yet. Everyone has been complimentary. Thancred spent last night and the night before murmuring about her beauty as he took her apart. And Emet-Selch-

She yanks on the knob, turning off the shower and the intrusive thoughts with them.

The charms she expected are present, drawing the moisture from her skin and hair. Most don’t submerge themselves fully in these springs, never mind the new addition of cold wind and snow. Nerys wraps the soft towel around her body, slips her feet into the provided sandals. She takes her pack and lance with her. No offense to the lockers, but trouble never picks a convenient time to find her.

The first thing she sees is his gunblade propped up against one of the walls, just out of range of water but close enough to run for. She laughs and walks over, doing the same with her lance before taking the knife from her bag.

"Knifeplay?" Thancred asks. "I'm not sure I want to introduce that in this setting."

She turns to him with a snappy remark but it dissolves away.

He sprawls against the side of the bath, arms draped over the edge and head tipped back. What she can see of his muscled chest gleams with moisture in the moonlight. The light snow falls on his cheek.

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

“It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight,” he said, standing outside her room at the Pendants. A pile of blankets in his hand. Two nights ago. Three days after they agreed to begin again, starting a slow and sometimes aching courtship.

Her chest tightened. “You had better come in then.”

“Just to deliver the blankets?” His eyes gleamed.

“Hm…” She pulled him inside. “That’s a start.”

His towel is folded, just within reach outside of the pool. Well then. Nerys lets hers fall, watching his eyes rake over her lush curves to the apex between her thighs. She takes her time walking over. A swell of pleasure rises in her gut. At the water’s edge, she bends at the waist to set towel and knife down within easy reach.

"You should come here," he says, a soft growl beneath his words. She fights the shudder wanting to rip through her.

"Just a minute." She slips out of the sandals. Dips a toe into the water, testing it. He starts to move towards her, but stops all at once when she holds up a hand. "Sit. Stay."

Thancred smirks. "You remember right? That I always repay you when you tease me."

A soft warmth incongruous to the moment floods her chest and she is helpless not to smile at him with soft eyes and a softer voice. "I have never forgotten a single moment, Thancred."

He swallows, his eyes telling the jumble of emotions roiling in him. She can see all the Thancreds she has known–the serious, protective Thancred, the closed-off and grieving Thancred. The teasing, playful Thancred who seduced her all over Mor Dhona. The attentive, caring Thancred who always knew when she needed him to take over and give her release, or when to let her hold the reins.

The loving Thancred, though neither of them have said the word yet.

"Nerys," he says, voice raw. "Come here."

She goes to him, sliding into the water and into his arms, into his lap as he embraces her. His tongue slides over her bottom lip and she opens to him, lets him plunder her mouth as his hands slide over her hips and waist. Traces her new scars, every mark she has earned since the Bloody Banquet. She finds the ones he has gained since, and where the First has failed to duplicate them. His soul is a near-perfect copy of the body in the Source, but there are small differences.

He parts from her after an eternity, gasping as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "My plan was for a long, slow night of seduction. And yet, here we are."

“We always end up here,” she says with a laugh. Just as they had meant to take things slow, at least a few weeks before they became lovers again. Why had they ever thought that was a good idea? "Didn't you have any company, these five years?"

"Very little," he admits. "Almost none, once I took in Min-...Ryne. I couldn't exactly leave her to wait at a campsite while I lurked in a tavern looking for a companion."

"Very little," she repeats, cupping the side of his neck and the tattoo. Rubbing it gently. "You don't have to tell me details but...anyone I know?"

He smiles; a little sad, a little soft. "Despite having all the time to do so...no, I didn't make a move on either of them. By the time they got here, I was once again wrapped in my anger and grief."

Nerys sighs and kisses his forehead. "At our pace, neither of us will confess to Y'shtola before our sixtieth Nameday." As to when he might speak to Urianger, maybe before his fiftieth.

His laugh is gentle. "I forgot you were an optimist."

The word startles her in a way she can’t disguise and Thancred is alert all at once, ready to ease whatever troubles her. She shakes her head to assuage him. “Nothing. Nothing, just reminded me of a conversation I had with...someone, earlier.”

“Sweetheart.” The old endearment enfolds her in its warmth despite the slight reproof. “I can guess who from the evasion. It won’t bother me.”

"The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

“He is not Lahabrea.” Thancred squeezes her hip. "Not that I am fond of our 'friend.' But it won't injure me to know you talk to him."

"Alright." She wraps her arms about his neck to better balance herself. The cold air and fall of snow prickle at her shoulders and chest, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and where their skin presses together.

"And what about you?" He asks, shifting his leg just so between her thighs. No pressure against her center, not yet. "Was there anyone since I saw you? I know it wasn’t five years for you but..."

"Ah...yes." More heat rises in her. "...Estinien and Aymeric."

Thancred’s eyebrows shoot up. "Both? At the same time?"

“Mm.” Nerys finds herself ducking her head, vulnerable. Those stolen nights in Ishgard seem a dream now, all the more because she had thought it would never happen. And had made peace with that. "Estinien walked in on us and...well, they are a couple. It wasn't so odd to invite him…"

"And you’ve wanted him as long as you wanted Aymeric," says Thancred. He has that smug expression he gets sometimes. “Perhaps for longer. I wondered when it would happen.”

She huffs, scowling. "Is this what you do? Figure out who I am in love with and wait for me to say something?"

"I can't help it." He dips his head, kissing her shoulder. "I seem to have an extra sense for this sort of thing with you."

“I’m glad we found each other.” She means it teasing but again, her words come out warm with emotion. How long till she can stop feeling so much relief to have him in her arms? Sometimes she thinks she feels more than she is supposed to, with no way to stem the tide.

“So am I.” That leg moves with purpose now, nudging against her folds. He leans forward, catching her cold-stiffened nipple between his lips. She gasps, a low moan following right after. Thancred smirks and looks up at her. “Your exploits make for stirring tales.”

“Well, that answers that.”

In an instant, Nerys is up with the knife while Thancred rises, his fists raised. Their usual weapons are just far enough that blades and hands make sense for the interim.

Emet-Selch lounges on the opposite side of the bath, chest and below submerged in the water. He chuckles. "This is the second time you've aimed a blade at me today. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

Thancred growls. "You're trespassing, Ascian."

"Oh?" He shrugs. Nerys refuses to note how well-sculpted his shoulders are. "I wasn't aware you owned these natural springs, the night air…"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Mayhaps. But I was practically invited. Isn't that right, my dear?" Emet-Selch turns his gaze to Nerys, making no secret of how his eyes sweep over her nude body, her erect nipples, the drops of water coursing down her blue-gray skin.

She is already bare and it still feels like he is undressing her with his gaze.

“What? No.” She shakes her head at Thancred’s shocked expression. “No. When I said ‘surprise me’, this is not what I meant.”

“Well, this is why being specific is important." Emet sighs, sinking deeper into the water. “Will you put that knife down? Having two things pointing at my way is rather disconcerting...though stimulating."

At that, Thancred seems to remember he is naked and erect, though the cold air is working to amend the second problem. He sinks back into the water.

Nerys stoops to set the knife down, one arm shielded over her breasts and trying keep her thighs together. It wreaks havoc on her balance and makes Emet look even more amused. She gives up–he has already seen her–and sinks back into the water without further attempts at modesty.

The Emperor was a soldier, in his way. If his immortality hadn’t made him immune to being scandalized, being in the barracks surely had. As soon as she sits, Thancred slides an anchoring arm about her waist.

"Better," says Emet. "No wonder you have been neglecting me to spend all your time with him, hero. He is rather spectacular, beneath all the scowls he sends my way."

Thancred rolls his eyes. “You got your surprise and answered your question. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, that?” Emet-Selch’s smirk unfurls, slow as honey without the sweetness. “Our Warrior told me about Lord Haurchefant, how open they are with each other. I wondered if she was so with her other paramours, talking freely about her conquests."

Thancred glances her way again.  There was no reason to volunteer that information, it just...came up. When provoked, to be fair. Every other time she’s spoken about it...no she cannot say it was always to score points against Emet.

The look he gives her isn’t accusatory, she realises. It is...considering.

“And then here I find you two, comparing notes. Well, comparing notes against near celibacy. Either way, it’s very interesting.”

Nerys squeezes Thancred’s knee below the water. Rubs her thumb over the joint. “How long were you there?”

“Oh, long enough to be enjoyable but not so much to have been rude.” He slides a hand through his hair, pushing back locks damp from steam and snow. It...does things for his face, which he likely knows. “I did tell you that I like to watch.”

“Had your fill then?” Thancred asks, squeezing her hip.

"It takes much more to sate me. But it seems you two will be boring and stare at me till I leave." He sighs. "And as you are both submerged, I cannot even have something nice to look at. So, I suppose I'll go…"

No wait- She almost says.

She almost says! Twelve, Fury, whoever was listening, preserve; Nerys had actually thought of asking him to stay. This attraction is more dangerous than she thought. Clearly she is not so cool and objective about his beauty, if she is so on the verge.

Thancred goes very still beside her.

Nerys curses inwardly. Of course he catches on. This is what he does–understand what she wants before she admits it to herself. And that is all fine...until it is this man behind everything they have fought, everything that has hurt them and taken away their loved ones.

Attraction is not harmless and objective if Thancred is beside her, hurting because of it and her.

“Depends,” says Thancred, squeezing her hip again. “Are you going to sit there and make remarks, or are you going to do something useful?"

What?

She turns to Thancred, at a loss. Even at his most reckless, he wouldn’t invite an enemy to...maybe she misunderstands.

Emet-Selch is very still, the self-satisfied expression gone from his face. Thancred has surprised them both.

“Are you…” She swallows and starts again. “Are you saying…”

“You’re attracted to him, and he to you.” Thancred says, pressing lips to her temple. The soft pressure is unlike the rigid way he holds himself, tension all through his body. “And while neither of us trust him, sex doesn't have to require that.”

It doesn’t, but it always has for her. Even one night with a stranger requires someone she feels relatively safe with. More than that–he isn’t telling the whole truth. He isn’t testing her. That isn’t his way. But he has a reason she can’t guess at yet.

She does not trust Emet-Selch. He is not safe.

But. But.

If...when he strikes, it will not be while making love to them. It seems too gauche, too crude for him. There have been other times, more seemly times he might have waited for her to lower her guard. Like hours ago, when she presented her back to him and he had all but molded to it.

And she trusts Thancred.

“Okay,” she says. Not even sure that Emet will agree or if he is about to laugh at their temerity. Two sundered beings, thinking they might bring pleasure to an Ascian. “But if anyone says stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Agreed.” Thancred says, keeping her close to him.

Emet begins to rise until Thancred lifts a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. Clearly amused, the other man complies.

Nerys startles when Thancred lifts her into his arms and out of the water, carried like a bride through the chill air. He has always been strong but...he lifts her as if she is nothing. His muscles speak to the strength he has honed these five years but still, she hadn’t grasped the change. Not until now, cradled against his chest with her long legs dangling over his arms.

Thancred crouches, setting her into Emet’s lap with her back against the Ascian’s chest, smoothing his hands over her arms before he lets go. At once, Emet slides his hands around to palm her breasts. She gasps at the electric touch–both too much and not enough.

He is not shy. And he is not going to dismiss them.

His hands feel better than he imagined. And she can admit now: she imagined.

"I've no idea what you're trying to prove, Thancred." Emet says, breath against her ear. "But as it gives me something I want, I will examine it later."

Something in her clenches at that. “When you spoke of play...have you been flirting this whole time? Or was that just to rile me?”

“Yes.” Emet presses his lips to the side of her neck, feather light. Almost imperceptible. His hands are the opposite, purposeful as they knead her breasts, roll her dark purple nipples between his fingers until she squirms on his lap. It’s like he knew how sensitive she would be there.

Thancred’s hand reaches behind her, gripping somewhere on Emet. His shoulder? Digging into his hair? He has to lean in close to do it and Nerys takes advantage. She presses her mouth to his brown nipple, chasing a rivulet of water down his chest. Sweet, just like he can be.

"You don't put anything inside her until I say so," says Thancred. His voice is harsh but he shivers beneath her lips.

"Oh," Emet breathes. "Do you always let him boss you like that, my dear?"

He squeezes her left breast and she gasps against Thancred instead of answering. All at once he stills, waiting for her response. “S-sometimes. It depends.”

That earns her more pressure against her needful flesh, the fingers pinching just so. “Tell me.”

Nerys tries to look back at him. He frees one hand to catch her chin, directing her eyes back to Thancred who kneels before her. It almost doesn’t feel real, without seeing Emet and his smile and his pale-gold eyes. It could be anyone behind her, certainly not him of all people.

Except that voice. She would know it in the haunting light of Kholusia or in the darkest cave of the Night’s Blessed. At some point, he slipped under skin as if he was meant to be there.

Thancred watches them, running one hand up and down the outside of her thigh in slow strokes. The other is underwater, mirroring the touches on himself. He nods, giving her permission to tell their secrets.

“We...switch,” she says. “I often prefer someone to hold my reins. But...sometimes I like telling him what to do. Withholding from him until he is good. Making him beg.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Emet purrs, proving just how long he watched them. She frowns and puts her hand on his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“That’s his name for me. You need to choose your own.”

He sighs and she can feel his eyes rolling. Dramatically. “Oh, very well. I suppose I could continue calling you my dear.”

At those words, his teeth sink into her earlobe and his hands resume their kneading. His erection presses at her under the water, the thickness apparent just from the feel of him. She resists the urge to grind against it, lest it end things too soon.

"Any other orders, Thancred? Or are you content to watch me tease her until she begs for release?"

Thancred cups her face between his hands and kisses her, unhurried and deep. She grows pliant under the luxurious touch of both men. No reins desired in her hands tonight. And from the glint in his eyes when he parts from her, Thancred can tell.

“Hold her arms behind her,” he says. “And you’ll be nice for us, won’t you sweetheart? He shouldn’t have to worry about holding you back."

"I'll play nice. This time."

“Ha." He nips her jaw. "Say stop, and we stop. And if you can’t speak, go very still and I will too.”

Nerys nods. Strong hands grip her arms, arranging them to cross behind her back before locking tight upon her. Except-

Except, there are still fingers on her breast. Palms anchoring her hips tight against Emet. She looks down and sees black and purple aether in the vague shape of hands, cupping her aching chest.

Emet chuckles, low and dark. His cock twitches against her. "I have my talents."

Twelve. Growing wet is...different in hot water. But there is still a heated, slick pulse between her legs and her hips try to jerk in response to the idea of what he could do with all those hands. The heat filling her has nothing to do with the springs.

Thancred pushes the aether-hands off her chest so he can cup her breasts, drawing them up as he lowers his mouth to suckle at one. Her head tips back and Emet-Selch takes advantage, lips pressing to the side of her neck. The barest hint of teeth whispers with them.

“So sweet, so good,” murmurs Thancred. His large, callused hands slide over her as his tongue traces her nipple. "What do you want tonight?"

Nerys can barely shiver, the hold on her is so tight and strong. Emet’s fingers pulse against her, firm but not harsh on her skin. “I want you. I want you both. However you want me.”

He smiles and she readies to receive another litany of compliments. The words always flow from him when he is amorous, praising every twitch of her muscles, every way she takes him into her. Instead, he rewards her with another dizzying kiss; so intense she forgets herself and tries to throw her arms about him.

Emet tightens his grip, tutting against her neck.  "And she was so well behaved until now."

“Sorry,” she murmurs against Thancred’s mouth. “I just-I need to feel you-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Thancred hushes her, his fingers against her mouth as he moves into her space. She parts her lips and takes the tip of one, swirling her tongue about it. “Ah, I’ll give you what you need.”

He slides a hand onto the back of her neck, nudging her down while she continues lathing his finger. The many hands clutching her accommodate, till she is suspended and bent over, balanced by the arms held taut behind her, barely on Emet’s lap. Her chin dips into the hot water and she stares up through lowered lashes.

Thancred stands, sliding a hand to grip just beneath the swollen head of his cock.  Not as thick as what she feels against her rump, but it has grown to its full aroused length. Emet hums appreciatively, likely at the outstanding number of ilms on display. She thinks–it is hard to think, held like this, a slip away from all of her sinking into the water, his cock before her-

She thinks there are more hands on her now, thumbs rubbing subtle, light circles into her arms and legs and ankles. Emet follows the orders; nothing is inside her yet. But oh how she wants there to be, an end to the sweet torture of the many teasing touches.

“Well?” Emet asks. “Are you going to give her what she needs? You certainly have enough of it.”

Thancred smirks over her head, slowing the pace of his stroke as he goes from root to tip. Caressing each bit of the shaft before swirling his thumb over the head, worrying at his lip when he does so. Both she and Emet make pleased sounds at the same time, hers much more needy and inelegant.

At last, Thancred slides one hand into her short locks; keeping her in place as he guides himself into her mouth. Slow at first, then pressing deep as she relaxes her mouth and throat. She cannot take him all the way but she tries, savoring the heady taste of him and spring water until her toes curl.

He fucks into her mouth, his hips jerking in quick thrusts. The water splashes up her face and she closes her eyes, the sensations heightening the moment she does. Over the splashing she hears Thancred say something. In response, two fingers plunge into her folds. In and out, pulling back as soon as she tries to grind against them.

She thinks they are Emet’s flesh hands. She cannot be sure.

Nerys squirms to free herself, needing to touch Thancred. Run her hands over his shaft where her mouth cannot possibly go. The grip on her limbs tightens, a third finger slides into her. She can feel Emet’s body move with a chuckle even though she can only hear the water splashing over her nose and closed eyelids. The threat to her breathing goads her pleasure.

Thancred’s grip in her hair tightens, the other hand joining to burrow in the violet and white strands. His fingers in her scalp send a new wave of feeling through her. She moans around him, the pressure in her building but with no outlet in sight.

His thrusts speed up and she knows what is about to happen, groans in encouragement as his release pours into her. He doesn’t let go, not until he is fully spent and the momentum gives way. She can hear him now, the running litany of praise he must have kept up the whole time. “-so good, so good you did so well…”

He drags her off him and kneels, pressing her to sit again with her back against Emet, lips brushing against hers as she swallows and catches her breath. Nerys opens her mouth to him and he follows her, tasting her more fully. Tasting himself more fully.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m close but also not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Thancred says, kissing her forehead. He takes a deep breath and submerges beneath the water. She isn’t sure what he’s about until his mouth latches onto her clit, sucking as much as he can below. The fingers inside her curl

“Fuck,” she hisses again. They’re going to eviscerate her like this.

“Look at you.” Emet says, mouthing along her shoulder. "How easily you come apart. How eager you are to obey, and he is not half so dominating as I would be."

She moans–from his fingers, Thancred’s mouth, the implicit promise in Emet’s words. Nerys answers the challenge in them instead. “I-I know he’ll make it good for me. I d-don’t need that much encouragement.”

“Implying what? You aren’t so assured of me?” He catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head back towards him until it almost hurts. The edge of pain thrills down her spine, joining the rest of the heightened feelings in her. “I think you can accurately guess the heights I could drive you to.”

His breath tickles the corner of her mouth. At last she sees his eyes and the roaring fire they contain, the undisguised need and want. She gasps, not just from the increased thrusting of his fingers, the pressure and seal of Thancred’s mouth. If he had ever shown her that look before, she would have dragged him to bed and the consequences be damned.

Thancred emerges, taking a breath at the same time he slides his hand over the one Emet has on her face. Presses his mouth over the other man’s fingers before kissing Nerys like she is the oxygen he couldn’t have underwater.

His other hand slips between her thighs, direct and purposeful on her sensitive bud. His words pour into her ears–”yes, let go, let go, I want you to come like this, just like this”–and Emet’s fingers move faster inside her. With his wonderful, knowledgeable hand at her clit and his ragged words against her cheek, it doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry.

Thancred swallows her yell, her shaking prevented by Emet’s grip. For a moment, all she sees are the brilliant stars above them in the inky sky. The snow falling on her hair. The crescent moon, reminiscent of one of Emet’s toothier smiles.

Emet lets her go all at once and she collapses against Thancred, melting into his soothing touch. Her breath is loud in her ears, near as much as her heart slamming against her ribs and his against her ear.

“Good girl.” Thancred kisses the tip of her pointed ear. “Do you know what I would do for you, if we were in a different setting?”

She shivers, feeling the cold air for the first time since he put her in Emet’s lap. “Tell me. Please.”

“I would let you take us both, together, at the same time. Get you so stretched and wet for us, so slick...” The soft growl is back in his voice and she might climax again, just from that. As maple-sugar-sweet and poetic he can be, as worshipful as he may choose to be, this is a part of him too. Hungry and demanding.

“True, we cannot prepare her easily in this setting.” Emet says. “Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

There is a soft snap.

Nerys lies in a bed–her bed, in her room at the Pendants. She is warm and dry, not a drop of water on her. Warmer still from Emet, stretched out and pressed along her side, tracing patterns into her abdomen. (Also, the bed is made. The coverlet is far too expensive to come from the inn. She touches the red material in wonder.)

“Hilarious,” Thancred says from the center of the room. Naked and sopping wet, with all their belongings beside him in a careful pile. Emet would not harm their weapons, even if he might be unkind to Thancred’s person. “You might have dried me off too.”

“Hm…” Emet pushes himself on one elbow, the other hand tapping a finger to his lips. “If you fetch the oil from her bathroom cabinet, I shall dry you off.”

For a long moment, Thancred stares him down. Eyes narrowed. But there is no real ire and with a sigh, he makes for the bathroom. The aether lights flicker on as soon as he steps inside.

“How did you know...Emet-Selch! I said you’re not allowed to be here when I’m gone.”

She starts to sit up. Quick as any hunting animal, he braces his arm on the other side of her and swings a leg across. He leans over her, caging her in on all sides  without touching her. Yet. “Yes, but I never agreed to those terms. Underhanded but...my hero did request surprises.”

Nerys puts a hand flat against his shoulder with the intent to push. His skin is warm beneath her palm, the silken feel of him unexpected. It would be so easy to shove him off, storm away from the bed. Except this is the first time truly looking at him since they began and...he has her trapped. Immolating in the pale gold fire of his eyes, mesmerized in the quirk of his brow and tilt of his full lips. The longer she stares, the more neutral his expression becomes and he returns the scrutiny.

There is no buffer. No Thancred to protect her or distract her. And she is afraid-

But not of him, she realises with a start. It’s the intensity I feel when he touches me. I’m scared of how much I want him to touch me again. I’m scared at how right this seems.

She pushes herself up with one hand, the other cups the back of his neck. Pulls him down to her. Emet stills only a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he submits to her, mouth moving soft and slow over hers. His hands curl about her waist, thumbs stroking over her skin. He savors her with the slow drag of his tongue coaxing her more open, more vulnerable to his ministrations.

When they part his eyes are half-lidded, expression utterly relaxed. He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful. But this pierces her in a new way, so lovely he could rend her heart in two with one look. And he just might.

The hands on her hips pull her forward as he leans back. She ends up in his lap, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. Nerys reaches between them to stroke him. He has been patient this whole time, the least she can do is-

Emet catches her hand and lays the attached arm upon his shoulder, then the other. She opens her mouth to protest and he interrupts her with another kiss. Just as slow and aching, one arm hooked behind her back while the other traces fingertips along her jaw. His hand is gentle as it runs over her throat, down between her breasts, stroking circles into her waist and hip.

Nerys realises it is the longest he has gone in her presence without talking. And she feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, mouth trembling with the strength of holding it back.

“Laughing at me, hero?” He murmurs against her mouth. Nips her lower lip in reprimand.

“N-no I just...felt giddy all of a sudden.” Damn her, ruining the mood like that. Just as his hand was traveling down.

“Liar.” His scolding teeth sink into the side of her neck. She gasps against him, laughter dissolving into a breathy sound. “Better. Let’s see what other preferable sounds we can draw from you.”

“You’re getting close,” she says. Now her smile is irrepressible. “A little lower and to my left…”

“Dear, dear, dear,” he sighs. “And you were so obedient before. Do I bring out the minx in you so much?”

“I thought that was part of why you always came back to talk.”

Instead of a verbal riposte, his hand moves down and to her left. Circling her center, finding the clit and pressing down upon it. As if he has brought her to pleasure a thousand times and knows just where to touch.

Nerys buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering until his strokes are too much and she has to moan against him.

“What delicious noises you make, my dear.” He says, continuing to circle. Continuing to scrape his teeth over her skin. “Thancred was a fool to ever let you go.”

“I was.”

Nerys opens her eyes. (When did she close them?) Thancred stands a few paces from the bed, glass bottle in hand. Both of Emet’s hands splay against her back, pressing her close against him. She feels his fingers snap against her, drying Thancred in an instant.

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

Nerys has to push a moment before he lets her lean back, getting a better view of Thancred. Shakes her head. “It wasn’t as simple as all that, or one person’s fault.”

As mad as she still is at the Exarch...she might have spoken to Thancred a dozen times before this week. Taken the aetheryte to Mor Dhona to see him, pull him aside when he joined their party in Gyr Abania. Or called him over linkpearl, as she did the night they almost lost Y’shtola.

He pushed her away after they found him in Dravania, even more after Minfilia. But she squandered opportunities, each a bright and alarming memory in hindsight.

Before Thancred can respond, Emet puts a hand to her cheek and makes her look at him. His free hand raises, wagging a finger in her face before tapping her nose. “Ah ah ah, don’t let him off so easy. Not when he is doing his best to make it up to you now…”

Nerys sees the moment a thought takes hold, curling the ends of his mouth upward, drawing his brows down. He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, is that it? Why you asked me to join?”

Thancred cloaks the soft, warm expression at Nerys with a scowl at Emet. “Don’t pretend to understand my motives.”

Emet clicks his tongue in mock scandalization. “Presumptuous of you, thinking you’re allowed to gift wrap and present me as an apology present.”

Oh.

Nerys extricates herself from his lap, climbing off the bed in a hurry. Walking to Thancred. Searching his closed-off expression for a hint. “Is...is that true?”

Thancred reaches out and takes her hand. Lifts it to his mouth. For all the things these two men have done tonight, for all the things they might still do; these soft touches disarm her the most. And then he removes the facade for her, showing the hope and wariness and the mocking little smile. One she knows is always meant for himself, not anyone else.

He sighs “He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right.” Thancred peers behind her at the bed. “But if Emet-Selch feels used, he is free to leave at any time.”

That last part doesn’t sound angry or annoyed as much as...challenging. She watches him smirk and quirk a brow. Daring the other man.

“Naughty boy,” Emet murmurs. “No, I won’t leave. This has proven to be an interesting night indeed and I am not satisfied yet.”

Nerys touches Thancred’s cheek, drawing his gaze back up to her. Looks him dead in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. Your feelings matter to me and-”

“I could have let him leave, and given you a memorable night without him. I decided I wanted to give you this instead.” The old roguish smirk grows on his lips. “And besides, he has a nice prick.”

She exhales slow, deep, making herself relax. Banishing the anxious tension in her neck and shoulders. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You always can.” Thancred draws her face down and she follows, sinking into his embrace. He still holds the bottle and it’s cool against her back as she presses against the delicious heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest. As he moves, so does she until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Down, down, she goes until she is sprawled with her head and shoulders in Emet’s lap, Thancred holding himself above her.

“That last part,” Emet says, taking the glass bottle. “You couldn’t see my ‘nice prick’ in the water.”

“But I can see it now.” Thancred shifts his balance to one hand, the other sinking between Emet’s thighs. Sliding a hand over the long-neglected length and this time, Emet doesn’t forestall his own pleasure but lifts his hips. His full lips part and he sighs with relief.

Nerys tilts her head to look up at Thancred, who gives her an expectant look. This old game then. They haven’t played this one since the Spring Festival in Mor Dhona. She meets the challenge with a grin of her own and adjusts her position to better participate.

His fingers return to the root of Emet’s cock and slide upward. She chases them with her tongue along the velvet underside. The scents she associates with him–petrichor and ice and stone–are less here. He could be anyone she might bed.

Emet gasps and slides his hand into her hair. Guiding her as much as Thancred. The steady, near-painful pleasure is unlike many men she has taken to bed for a single night. Who often keep distance and treat her like glass. He is unlike anyone else.

The fingers twist over the swollen head and slip away for her to do the same, mimicking the motion with her swirling tongue. Emet increases pressure on her until he slides between her lips. Nerys bobs up and down without further incentive. That his grip remains insistent only makes this sweeter.

He is nearly as thick as Haurchefant, sure to make her jaw ache.

Another hand–Thancred’s–grips the back of her neck and nudges her down, down, her eyes watering as Emet fucks into her throat. Her nose meets the prickling thatch of auburn curls. Emet lets loose a more desperate sound, the groan raw as he pulls her off of him, fingers still digging into her scalp.

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

“And good boy.” The hands in her hair twists, angling her to watch Emet take hold of Thancred and kiss him with teeth and tongue and heat.  Arousal pulses through her at the sight. They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful and tonight they are both hers.

Nerys rises up, sliding into their tangle and they open for her, mouths and hands worshipping at her skin. She wants to be at the center of this. She wants to be selfish and feel them attend to every inch of her before they fuck her. She wants them to burn her until she is naught but ash and pleasure.

“I need you,” she says to them both. “Please don’t stop touching me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Emet catches her chin, sliding his thumb between her lips. “As if I-we could. You are a feast laid out for us and we are but beggars.”

She sucks on it, watching desire flare in his eyes. Emet sighs as if resigned, sliding his hand down so that he can kiss her again. The gentleness of it has her arms and neck prickling with awareness, her breath catching. Everything about him screams danger and yet–yet he coaxes her with lips and tongue, courting her instead of simply taking.

As if sensing her thoughts and needing to disprove her assumption, he turns her about in his arms. Bites down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Nerys gasps and Thancred is there to catch her, soothing her even as his own teeth drag over her pulse. Behind her is rustling and the soft pop of a bottle uncorked. She can hear Emet moving his hands together, warming his palms.

Thancred has not forgotten her request. As his mouth travels over her, his hands move in long strokes over arms and waist, hips and legs, neck and cheek. A dizzying perusal of caresses, maintaining the contact she needs.

She startles when Emet squeezes her rear, shivers when one oil slicked hand slides towards the tight ring of muscle. When the first finger begins to circle, Thancred kisses her shoulder. As it slides in to the knuckle, he strokes her sides.

“That’s it,” Thancred murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Look how wet you already are, ready for me to slide deep into you. And I will, as soon as he’s done preparing you.”

“My,” Emet says, kissing behind her ear. “He is a chatty one.”

“He is one to talk.”

“He must feel lost without some narration. Or is the talk for your benefit? Do you need me to tell you how good you’re swallowing me, how tight, how perfectly made for my fingers and my prick you are…”

Nerys means to laugh but a moan comes out instead. Digs her fingers into Thancred’s ivory locks and urges his lips downward. “I-I don’t need it but I like it.” She could have them talk to her like this for hours.

“Impatient,” Thancred mutters at her insistent pushing. He puts up a resistance, sliding his tongue over her stomach all the same.

“I don’t see you stopping me.” Nerys smiles down at him. “Unless you plan on making me pay?”

Teeth sink into her other shoulder as Emet adds a second finger. She wriggles against the sensation, tugging at Thancred’s hair in response. Quick, as if this is a battle–and maybe it is–Thancred grabs her wrists and pins them down on either side of her. Nerys grips at the unfamiliar coverlet, meeting his smirk with a scowl.

She tries to lift herself up, presenting herself for his mouth. He ignores the offering, attending to her breasts instead. Dipping down and then back up as soon as she thinks he might taste her. His grip is iron when she pushes against it, squeezing in warning when she does it again.

“Two strikes…” He says.

Now she has to know. Nerys tries a third time and finds herself dragged to lie on her back, his shoulders shoving under her thighs until they press against her stomach. Emet's slick hands leave her and she moans at the loss.

"You'll have him back in a moment." Thancred says. He glances up, has a wordless conversation with Emet behind her. Takes hold of her arms and lifts them, passing them over. Her wrists are shoved down, captured in the harsh grip of one hand pinning above her head.

It should be worrying that they are cooperating this well to make her writhe. Instead, she feels giddy and like she might dissolve from the force of anticipation..

She tests the restraint and finds no give, not even with her two hands to his one. Emet looks down at her, pitiless and expression bright with desire. And then her eyes shut because Thancred devours her. No mercy, no restraint, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they might bruise. He pushes her higher and higher until he thighs shake and she can see the edge-

And then he pulls back completely.

"Please," she gasps. "That's not fair. I need you-"

Emet’s face is upside-down above her, but he finds a way to slot his mouth against hers. She pours her frustration into the kiss, demanding release with a bite to his lip. He only chuckles against her mouth, his slow reprimand becoming something fierce. Engulfing.

When he parts from her, his lips but an ilm from hers, his eyes are unfocused and his breath ragged. She tastes his blood on her tongue. Licks her lips.

"Not yet," says Emet. "Not after we went through all the trouble of preparing you."

His hand is unyielding against her. Nerys tries to move her hips and legs instead and Thancred presses further, going the small distance needed to bend her in half. "I could come again after-"

“Listen.” Emet nips her shoulder. "We’ve staked a claim upon your pleasure. You’re going to have it...when we’re ready. Yes?”

Fuck. His words, his lowered voice...She would rub her thighs together if she could, if Thancred wasn't between them. Instead, she feels herself growing wetter, hotter. Thancred’s fingers slide over her but for all the lewd noises he draws out, he does not touch anywhere that might bring her release.

"Answer him, sweetheart,” says Thancred. "For once he is making sense."

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you want me to.”

"Good girl," Emet says, the two of them moving her to sit up between them again. "That deserves a reward."

"Please tell me the reward is your cocks," she says, leaning back against him. "Otherwise, I don't think I'll make it."

"Impatient." Emet mutters but he drips more oil into her cleft, the three fingers returning to open her, stretch her. She braces herself against Thancred, half slumped over and cheek pressed against his heart. If she tries to touch herself, he will stop her but she considers it. Dares one hand down against her stomach. He grabs at it, kissing her as he does.

Nerys groans, rocking back against the fingers stretching her. Grasping for the peak Thancred almost brought her to.

"She's ready," says Emet at last, his voice rough. His hands dig into her cheeks, squeezing as he parts them. "Needy creature. Who knew you had it in you to desire so much?"

"I knew." Thancred kisses her shoulder. "He'll learn, sweetheart."

"That you think you can teach me anything…" Emet mutters. "Mortals. And their arrogance."

"Please," Nerys begs, her voice taut with need. She clutches at Thancred as an anchor against the sweet torture they’re putting her through. "You can lecture us all you want but first give me your-"

At that, his head presses against her. Rocks a moment before sliding into her oil-slicked passage, his hands stroking circles to soothe her as he enters slow and steady. When her breath hitches and the ache is almost too much, he stops and kisses her nape and spine until she relaxes again.

She’s trembling in his arms, overwhelmed at the fullness, the sensation of him deep in her, wrapped around her. His aether seems to sink into her, embracing her as if he has re-manifested all those phantom hands again. But it is just him, just a barrier taken down between them.

When she beds someone with strong aether...those times were just a shade of this. This is beyond anything she has ever experienced.

Emet skims his hands over her muscular thighs, hosting her close until his chin rests on her shoulder. She opens her eyes as he eases them back, watching the view trade Thancred for the ceiling and instinctively reaches out for balance. And then Emet kisses her neck and soothes her skin and she relaxes again.

"Well?" He says, holding her legs open. "She wants you too, Thancred.”

Thancred crouches between her thighs, running a hand over his cock. It has returned to its full aroused length, a tantalizing bead of moisture at the head. His refractory period is always impressive, and they have taken their time since the hot springs. Teasing her until she feels ready to burst.

"I wonder if you'll even physically be able to take it all." Emet says in her ear. "Stuffed as you already are."

He rocks his hips just so and she whimpers at the feel of him. It is true–she is already full to bursting. It is also true–she wants to take as much of them as she can. All of them if she is able.

“If it’s too much…” Thancred leans over her. Presses his cock against her folds as he lines himself up. “Look at me.”

She looks at him, into the warm depths of his eyes. Into the need and heat. Nerys lifts her hips in invitation and Emet is there to slide them back down, groaning softly.

“You know how to stop things, sweetheart. If it gets too much.”

“If it gets too much,” she repeats, licking her lips. “Thancred please fu-”

He slides into her without resistance, slick and ready as she is. It is almost too much and he isn't even half-way seated inside of her. She bites her lip so she doesn't say the word because she wants more, she wants to be utterly lost-

Emet bites the back of her neck and she cries out, but her body relaxes. Thancred slides deeper inside her, bracing his forearms on either side of them. Tension furrows between his brows.

“Alright?” He asks, more breath than sound.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

"How sweetly you beg." Emet curls one hand around her breast, the other sliding down her stomach. Dragging to where Thancred is buried inside her and her swollen nub waits succor. He traces outside it, slow and taunting. "It almost makes me want to see how long we can keep you just shy of climaxing."

Thancred smirks. Some of the tension eases in his face. "Keep talking like that, it's making her clench around me."

"Bastards," she moans, reaching for Thancred. Resting arms on his shoulders as he begins to move, his slow, vexing strokes in rhythm with the lift of Emet's hips.

"Oh, do be nice," Emet continues as his fingers brush against her core. "I have only ever admired you. And here you are, exceeding all my expectations. You, who shine brighter than most mortals, you're almost radiant now-"

Nerys cannot think enough to string a response together. Sex is often a release for her, a way to center herself. This feels like...being remade. Like the tandem motion of their bodies strips everything away until there is only the pleasure and the ache. Even the growing cramp in her calves cannot compare with the ecstasy coursing through her.

They are both talking, dropping praise upon her but now she cannot hold onto their meaning. Only the feeling of them sliding in and out of her, the ache and stretch of her body, the slap of their skin on hers. Especially as the pace picks up, both men pushing each other to a greater tempo, snapping hips to drive her back and forth between raging fire and raging fire.

The fingers at her clit press down. The edge is in sight and she sobs aloud for them to keep going. To keep moving. Not to stop again, not when she is so close.

Thancred kisses her. Lips press against her nape and she can feel Emet's smile, his breath as he mouths words into her skin that she cannot hear and cannot parse. They move faster inside her, the finger circling, teeth on her flesh-

Nerys screams as her pleasure rips through her, clutching at whatever she can as her mind enters the strange place of release–a mind so focused on one thing as to feel almost blank, a mind so overcome with feeling that there is nothing but relief and pleasure and not a single thought. She gasps and arches and sobs as they work her through it, the frenzied rhythm milking every onze of pleasure from her

Emet gasps and she feels the final, desperate thrusts of his release. And Thancred, Thancred keeps going, keeps moving in her and moving her against Emet until they are both sensitive and depleted and keening and then, and then Thancred lets himself go.

Nerys is nothing but ash and pleasure, smoldering between them.

Emet moves first, lips pressing to her back as his hand traces patterns into her skin. Idle, swirling loops and flourishes that guide her back to the land of the living. She follows their trail without hesitation, her hand sliding over his as she follows.

She opens her eyes just as fingers slides over her cheek. Thancred leans over her, forehead pressed to hers. Studying her as if he has never seen her before. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe she is someone else on the other side of what they shared.

Maybe they all are.

He slides out of her and she whimpers at the loss, both of him and the heady sense of being filled completely. But he returns to her, resting his cheek against her the swell of her chest while the rest of him lies flush against her.

Nerys strokes his hair and finds the energy to speak. “Okay?”

"Okay," says Thancred. Smiles a little. "I don't ever want to move again."

A soft snort behind her. "Your time is short as is."

"Hush," she says. "You're not going anywhere either."

"Oh?" Emet kisses her shoulder. "Bold of you to-"

Despite what he just said, Thancred moves. Slides up and nudges Nerys just so until he is able to press his lips against Emet's. The Ascian hums in response, submitting to the delightful reprimand.

At last Thancred pulls away with a sigh. "Much better."

Emet chuckles. "So, you two plan on keeping me here tonight. Well, I put myself at your mercy...provided you let me lead the figure at some point."

"If you're good," Nerys teases, and then gasps as Emet rolls his hips against her.

“My dear,” says Emet. His hands slide up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She can tell from Thancred’s expression, they’re sharing a conspiratorial look. Anticipation and wonder sing through her. “Let me prove just how good a playmate I can be."

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #20: Sleeping In

Prompt: consort (free write!) | Master Post | On AO3 (NSFW)

This is basically the morning after of one of the big projects on my WIP pile, the Post-Grand Melee Victory Sexing. >_> One day that fic will behave and it’ll be finished.

--

Synnove drifted back to consciousness slowly, limbs and eyes still heavy with fatigue. The bed was warm from generated body heat, but she could faintly sense sunlight spilling across the top of the comforter, too. More than those two facts that were wanting to lull her back to sleep, however, was the firmly muscled body pressed up against her own.

She tilted her head to bury her face in Aymeric’s neck, breathing out slowly. Now that she was, unwillingly, awake, she couldn’t help but notice how everything ached. Her arms, her back, her thighs, her hips… But then, facing off with the Alliance’s best and then going toe to toe with the Bull of Ala Mhigo himself would result in more than a little stiffness.

Particularly when rather than decompressing after the impromptu victory party that it seemed all of Ishgard had partaken in by doing something sensible, like taking a hot bath, she and Aymeric had retreated to his office for a more…private celebration.

A smug grin tugged at her lips. The bruises he had left on her neck and shoulders would take days to fade, and she hadn’t quite imagined their first time together would have been quite that feral, but she had no regrets.

A deep chuckle shook the chest beneath her, and she felt Aymeric kiss her temple. “I know you’re awake, my love,” he murmured into her ear, his voice still rough with sleep. “You’re smugger than a coeurl who’s gotten the cream and the canary.”

Synnove snickered and let her head fall back against the pillow, finally cracking her eyes open as she did.

Aymeric’s face swam into focus above her and he used his elbow to prop his head up and grin at her. She grinned back and reached up with one hand, despite the twinge in her arm, to comb his hair out of his lovely blue eyes, lightly scratching against his scalp as she did. His eyes closed and a shiver ran through him at the action, a quiet groan escaping his throat.

Synnove laughed softly, raking her hand through his hair one more time before withdrawing to extend her arms above her head and stretch. Doing so reminded her still sleep-addled mind of how their legs were tangled together, of how naked they were beneath the bedclothes, and another satisfied grin crossed her lips.

As she bowed her back and pressed her breasts against Aymeric’s own bare chest, muscles and tendons and ligaments all tensing and lengthening as she enjoyed a luxurious stretch, her knight bent down and kissed the bruise on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, the one he had taken particular pleasure in forming on her skin with how often he had come back to it the previous night. Synnove tilted her head out of the way, letting go of the tension in her limbs to collapse in a content, boneless puddle, while Aymeric mouthed at his mark and pressed her into the mattress with a rumble of satisfaction. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and nuzzled his ear, then nipped at the tip, snickering when Aymeric groaned again, louder, his hips involuntarily rolling against her thigh before he forcibly stilled them.

“Succubus,” he growled against her skin, and set his teeth against her bruise in reprimand.

Syrup-like heat flowed down her spine to pool in her belly, and Synnove laughed even as she squirmed in his hold and gasped out, “You said that last night.”

“And it’s still true.” Aymeric let go of her neck and kissed the soft spot beneath her jaw. Then her chin. Then her beauty mark. And then, finally, her lips, shockingly gentle in comparison to his teeth in her throat, more nuzzle than kiss.

Synnove sighed happily, bringing her other arm up to wrap around him as her eyes drifted shut. “Good morning, Aymeric,” she whispered against his lips.

“Good morning, Synnove,” he said in kind. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm, sore. But happy. You?”

“The same.” He drew back to brush gentle kisses against her eyelids, and she sighed again and placed careful kisses of her own against his jaw.

They stayed like that for long moments, simply trading soft kisses while pressing as close as possible, until Synnove felt drunk on Aymeric’s adoration. Arousal was a steady simmer within her, sparking with every brush of her knight’s hard length against her thigh, every rub of Aymeric’s hand down her arm or torso or hip, the build-up slower than it had been last night when they had been high on adrenaline and victory but no less heady. Their kisses kept deepening until they were almost panting against one another—

—and a clatter came from the small receiving chamber in Aymeric’s rooms.

Synnove stilled in surprise, tensing. Aymeric dropped his head to her shoulder with a rueful laugh.

“What was that?” she said.

“The dumbwaiter,” Aymeric giggled. “I’m sorry, love, it’s not actually funny, but the last time the Congregation’s mess staff bothered to use the dumbwaiters, rather than force everyone to stumble to the mess, was after the defense of the Steps of Faith.”

Synnove took a minute to process that, and blinked. She glanced at him askance, and said admiringly, “Ishgardians really do party hard, hm?”

“It’s the consequence of being serious and uptight most of the time,” Aymeric said with a teasing lilt, raising his head to grin at her when she broke into peals of laughter. He kissed the tip of her nose and added, “I’ll be right back.”

Despite the statement, they both groaned when Aymeric rolled away and off the bed. Synnove reached for him, and he turned to brush his lips against her shoulder before he batted her hands away and escaped. She flopped down with a grumble, unhappy with her nest of warm blankets and handsome lover being so disturbed—but very much admiring the view as Aymeric strode out of the bedroom of his quarters.

In a few moments, he returned, carrying a large tray upon which balanced a few covered dishes, a carafe of hot coffee, a pot of cream, a bowl of sugar cubes…and two coffee mugs.

Synnove stared as she pushed herself upright, curling her legs beneath her to sit cross legged and pulling the comforter up to keep herself warm. “All right,” she said, “I’m impressed. That’s a very fast grapevine.”

Aymeric shook his head with a laugh, pausing next to the bed as Synnove flattened and smoothed out the blankets before setting the tray down in the cleared spot. He climbed back into bed next to her and she curled into his side, nosing into his shoulder while he wrapped an around her waist.

Breakfast was simple but filling: brioche buns filled with custard, the buns still so hot they steamed; soft-boiled eggs with a tangy sauce to dip them in (“Not bad, but needs spice.” “Darling, your idea of spice is terrifying.”); beef hash, the smell of which alone had both their stomachs growling; and fresh melon, sweet and juicy, that had been grown in one of Ishgard’s myriad greenhouses. They settled in to eat in companionable silence, passing the coffee carafe back and forth to refill it as they needed. Aymeric kept his arm around her the entire time and Synnove found herself dozing in between bites of breakfast with her cheek on his chest, lulled by both the heat he radiated and the food filling her belly.

Once they were finished, Aymeric got up again—Synnove didn’t whine, but it was a near thing—to send the empty tray back down to the Congregation kitchen. When he came back, it was to find her snuggled down amongst the pillows, blinking at him sleepily over the blankets pulled up to her nose.

He chuckled and crawled under the covers, gathering her up in his arms once he was settled. They both sighed contently, and Synnove shifted just enough so that she could burrow into the crook of his neck once more.

“I think, this once,” Aymeric murmured with a kiss against her brow, “we are allowed to be a pair of laggards.”

“Excellent,” Synnove said, eyelids heavy. “Love you, Aymeric.”

“Love you, too, Synnove.”

[berrodarmstrong]

An Oath in Crystal

The sun bore down on the salty shores of the Lochs. It was a dry, still day that the imposing fortress city of Ala Mhigo framed along the mountain lake’s edge. A pair of Highlanders stood upon the white-crusted dirt, not ten yalms from the deceivingly gentle lapping water. 

“You’re giving this to me, just like that?”

Berrod stared at the small, light blue crystal in the palm of his hand. The etched markings on it seemed to catch the light in a way that made him think it glowed. Did it? Did it not? It was hard to tell. He lifted an incredulous gaze to the woman who had just handed it over to him. She stood, tall and proud, her skin a rich brown, her curly black hair braided in intricate patterns along the side of her head that gave way to weighty locks on her shoulders. Her armour was a stunning combination of dark blue and golden coloured chain and plate that only served to accentuate the blazing amber of her eyes. Slowly, and with a knowing smile, she shook her head. “No, not just like that. You know what you have to do. We’ve trained for it. Now it’s time for you to stand and show me that it wasn’t in vain.”

Berrod’s chest tightened a little then. Fear -- he knew what she was capable of. Dhalia was a capable Paladin, and not at all someone to be trifled with. Yet, he knew what he had learned, what he had crawled up from the depths of despair to take into his hands and make his own. His leather-clad fist closed over the crystal and squeezed tight as he closed his eyes. The aether within it thrummed like the barest of heartbeats...but it would not yield to him. Not yet. Dhalia was right. He knew what he had to do for that to happen. Silently he put the crystal into his harness, close to his heart. His own leather armour was a paltry thing compared to Dhalia’s gleaming plate...but it was what he had to work with for the time being.

“Are you ready?” Dhalia asked. She always had a way of speaking gently before unleashing hell.

“We’ll find out.”

There was a small smile on her lips -- the answer was appreciated. 

When Berrod drew his scimitar and shield, it was simply an affair of scraping and jostling steel. He held the shield at the ready, with the blade at the side, poised to bite at first opportunity. When Dhalia drew her blade and shield, it was as if the very heavens opened over the Lochs; the sun shone brightly down upon her, absorbed and expressed through purposeful radiance. Her weapons were beautiful. Black with golden accents, the sword promised a swift end to those who crossed her. The shield bore the same motif, a towering bastion that none were allowed past. How was he supposed to beat this? At best, he could probably survive it -- and that is what he intended. 

His field of vision was suddenly enveloped in brilliant, blinding gold. It was all he could do to hold his shield up before a slamming impact sent him skidding backward with a trail of glittering yellow sparks. Once the blinding radiance settled -- or rather, once Berrod’s vision adjusted, he beheld the sight of Dhalia. Even though her armour was dark blue and gold, it still -glowed-, releasing amber and gold light in lashing waves. Her blade was held high, and her cape billowed behind her in a fashion that reminded him of spreading wings. The span of them began with the heavy cloth, and continued past it with the appearance of long golden feathers. Her sword was held high overhead, and her shield held up and to her left. Amber flames burned in her eyes. The sand, stone and salt rolled outward as the radiant, radial -rush- of power from her billowed without cease. This was far, far beyond anything she had shown him during their training. She had glowed a little at times, pulsed with aether frequently enough, but this -- this was on a different scale entirely. He hadn’t even seen her like this during missions they went on together, where their lives were on the line. Berrod was confident that the brilliant light was no mere display; she meant business, and he would die if he was not careful.

“What are you and your shield?” She demanded -- her voice was loud, commanding, and carried with it an aetherial quality that lent itself to a booming echo. Berrod knew the answer to the question she posed -- whether his answer would keep him alive was another matter entirely. 

“We are the mountain and the fortress wall, raised and wrought of earth, protector of our people!” From his answer poured power, into his shield arm, into the shield itself, only for her to smite it mightily. With one cleaving, downward motion of her blade every mote of light around her struck it, struck him. Berrod was momentarily given the impression of his bones shattering to the last. He knew it wasn’t true, since he stayed standing, but the impact had shaken him -- to say nothing of the sheer, sustained force that came in its wake. It was like trying to climb up against the thunderous cascade of Velodyna falls...if the water was boiling hot. Such power! Still, he held on, his own aether providing fierce resistance to hers, even though it was the lesser by far. For a moment he suffered a slip of doubt...with his chakras he would have been able to stand against this so much more effectively. If only…

His boots scraped a fulm back on the dirt and pain lanced through his muscles. The doubt had cost him -- but he was able to cast it aside. The pain that had started to burn at him was more than enough motivation. Chakras were a thing of the past. His power came from something else now. Slowly, steadily, painstakingly, he climbed up against the deluge of power thrust against him…and then it stopped. Berrod stumbled forward a bit, shocked that it was over so suddenly -- or not. She held up her shield and a glimmering wall of gold appeared before her; it gave her leave to lift her blade again again, this time charging a smiting blow that Berrod -knew- he would not survive. 

“What are you and your sword?” She asked, seemingly on behalf of the very firmament. 

This was it. Do or die. As before, Berrod knew the answer, but whether it was powerful enough…

“We are the strike of steel and the bolt of levin that will smite those who dare do our people harm!” As before, the words gave him power -- this time through his sword arm. There was strength there beyond what he normally swung with, and with it, he took to that golden shield...only for the blade to bounce off with a series of scintillating flashes. Agony licked up his arm as white fire, even as doubt seized his heart., His power threatened to wane. 

“You aren’t strong enough.” She said this without hesitation, without uncertainty. She knew. He knew -- and because he wasn’t strong enough, the light that gathered onto her blade would kill him. How many times had he been in this position? How many times had he put his life on the line to push past his limits and grow?

“I know,” He admitted, “But I will become strong enough.”

Berrod meant it -- he meant every word, and every onze of the power within him responded. This time it was beyond a mere sensation of strength. Sparks of lightning danced upon his blade, which had adopted a brilliant purple glow to match. His doubt was fled, and his blade loosed. The golden barrier shattered like a shower of sparkling gil, and the smiting cast was interrupted -- or so he thought, for a tick afterward. It took him yet another tick to realise that no, it wasn’t interrupted. He’d just gotten rid of the shield. Dhalia’s blade was as light now, and in one motion she descended and thrust it right through the middle of his chest. 

There was no time for shock, for horror, for sadness or disappointment. Berrod knew at once he had been struck dead, and...for some reason it didn’t hurt, it was warm. Wide-eyed and open mouthed, he waited for oblivion to claim him, but it never did, just that flowing warmth. He chanced a look down to see the blade that had run him through, but there was no blade -- just pure light. Her sword was in its sheath on her hip. 

“And what is your oath?” She asked quietly, gently. 

“With this blade, with this shield, with my flesh, blood,  bone and soul, I will protect my friends, my loved ones, and the people of Gyr Abania who cannot protect themselves. I do so in the name of my God, as a Paladin of Rhalgr.”

There was a moment of silence before she declared, “Good. May it be so.”

The light from him withdrew, but the warmth persisted. Against his beating heart he felt the thrum of the crystal...but unlike before, it had opened to him. It was the warmth. It was the light...and it was his. The crystal and his oath, together providing him with the power to do as he had bid himself. 

“Berrod Armstrong, I declare you my successor and Paladin in name -- and in name only, for your path has just begun. Take up your blade and shield and carry out your oath while you train to grow closer to the purpose you have taken in the name of your God. Stand tall and proud, you who would call yourself a Paladin of Rhalgr.”

Berrod had to admit that he didn’t feel much different. Even that warmth from the soul crystal faded, replaced by the soreness that was no doubt a result of him having endured that deluge of golden light. He was still the same man in leather armour that protected less than it should, holding a kite shield and a scimitar that served as training for slightly heavier arms. Even his goals were the same -- to protect this friends, his loved ones, the people of Gyr Abania. Those weren’t new...but he had put a foot forward onto the path, and he had no intention of stepping off of it. 

Carefully, he regarded the other Paladin, who had shed her otherworldly -- and quite frankly intimidating radiance. “What will you do without your crystal?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

He did. She didn’t need it. Her power was hers. The crystal was just the vehicle by which she passed it on. “You will have to shape it with your own oath, your own way,” She warned, “And it will not be easy.”

“I know...and Dhalia -- thank you.”

The only response she had was a smile before Berrod found himself tipping forward face first into darkness. It was in his last moment of consciousness that he realised how much he must have spent. 

[onwesterlywinds]

The Dreamer’s Climb

Ashelia hadn't meant to go any farther west than the limestone quarry, but Joshua was chasing her. Not going west would mean getting caught, and getting caught would mean Edge having more points than her, and that would be unfair. Besides, the tunnels around the limestone quarry were much better for hiding than their usual spots: they'd all spent the entire summer exploring the Undercity beneath the Ala Mhigan Quarter, and they were going to the same hiding spots more often than not. Frimelda and Joshua even had an advantage, since they lived there most of the time, and the four of them were running out of games to play that didn't lead to Frimelda or Joshua automatically winning.

So Ashelia sprinted through the quarry halls as fast as her legs could carry her, past heaps of glowing ore in wooden carts, past a group of tired men huddled around a fire pit, past a cavern where the wind whooshed around like a ghost - until she saw a wide staircase stretching upward and a beam of bright sunlight at the top.

"SAFE!" she called back, as soon as she tapped the wall of the alley she emerged into, or maybe just a bit before. Joshua came hurtling out right after, then Edge, then Frimelda; they all needed a second or two to catch their breath, and once they did, Ashelia realized that they had never been up into this part of the city before.

It was close to sunset now, and the walls all around them were lit up by the kind of glow that only came from the afternoon. In some ways, it looked like many other parts of Ala Mhigo: all the bricks were still the same pinkish-brownish color she loved, and the tall castle ramparts towered up not so very far from where they stood. But there were other colors too, other sights and sounds she had never explored before. In front of rows of houses and buildings and other strange alcoves, people had hung up fabrics of all sizes and materials. Others had signs or drawings on their doors, of bottes or pipes or sometimes people. To Ashelia, it looked almost like parade day, except people were walking in all different directions, sometimes even zigzagging across the street.

Behind them, a woman cleared her throat.

She was the most beautiful person Ashelia had ever seen in her whole life, except for maybe Aunt Alma. She could only be one of the Duskwights: tall and slender, with long ears that stuck out from under her straight black hair. Her fancy dress was a deep, dark red, so red it was almost black. She even had on a corset. It was the first time Ashelia had ever seen a corset on a real lady and not on one of her mother's old mannequins. Ashelia realized she was probably staring at the lady's bosom and tried quickly to look back up at her face instead.

As the lady smiled at her - a rather kind smile - she couldn't help but feel as though she was safe.

Joshua, though, gave a loud gulp from behind her. "Miss Élodie!"

The lady - Miss Élodie - inclined her head to each of them in turn. "Hello, Joshua, Frimelda. Gerald."

"It's EDGE!" they all said in unison.

"Edge. My apologies." She returned her beam to Ashelia - only this time, she straightened up to her full height, more than twice as tall as any of them. "And Ashelia Riot."

Ashelia didn't know very many adults who called her by her full name unless she was in trouble, and she found herself squirming a little even while being smiled at. "Hi."

Miss Élodie placed her hands on her hips. "I don't believe I've ever seen you this far west." The statement was directed at her, clearly. Then again, she was standing in front of the rest of her friends, as she had been the first one out from the Undercity, so she might have been addressing all of them - until she spoke again. "Are you allowed to be on this side of the limestone quarry, young lady?"

Ashelia nodded in what she hoped was a convincing manner but confessed to nothing, as any proper Riskbreaker would do. If her friends had any sense, they would be smart enough to do the same. She still didn't know every place where Frimelda and Joshua were or weren't allowed to travel, but by the way they offered no word of defense for themselves, she could guess they likely weren't supposed to be this far west either.

Élodie raised a hand to one of her long, slender ears - and with her thumb and forefinger, she removed a round, white object of a sort Ashelia had not seen before. "Do you know what this is?"

Ashelia shook her head. Behind her, Frimelda went, "Nuh-uh."

"It's called a linkpearl," Élodie explained. "It lets you speak to another person who has a linkpearl, even when you're very far apart."

"Oooh!" exclaimed Edge.

Élodie grinned at him, then back down at Ashelia. "If I were to call your father on this linkpearl," she said, sparing it a glance, "and ask him if you're allowed to be west of the quarry... would he say yes?"

She tried to think as quickly as she could in the hopes of conjuring a response that would not give herself away. "...My daddy doesn't have a linkpearl!"

"Hm!" Élodie placed a finger on her chin, raising her eyes to the heavens as she spoke her thoughts aloud. "That's very strange. Because I could have sworn I'd called him only the other day, to speak with him of official business with the Riskbreakers."

Ashelia's stomach dropped like the rock they'd thrown in the well earlier in the morning.

"But if you'd care to check, I can always give him a call again now. I imagine it wouldn’t take him long to answer."

"...No."

"Hm?"

"No," she said, a bit louder. "I'm not allowed west of the quarry."

Frimelda grumbled from behind her, while Edge whined "Aaashe!" a little more loudly than was necessary.

Élodie, meanwhile, was looking quite pleased in a way Ashelia no longer appreciated. "In that case, you'd best hurry back to the Quarter. All of you."

"Yes, Miss Élodie," Joshua mumbled, kicking at a nearby pebble.

But when they turned back to face the staircase through which they had come, they found only a solid brick wall. They all stared for a moment, stunned and unsure of how to proceed. Élodie told them all to close their eyes, then double-checked to make sure none of them were peeking. The moment Ashelia's eyes had shut, she heard something move, and suddenly the staircase back to the quarry appeared where there had been only stone a moment before.

"And remember," said Élodie as they retreated back into the darkness, "if I see you in this part of the city again - above the ground or under it - Agent Riot is only a linkpearl call away."

"You know," Edge huffed, "I bet your dad doesn’t really have a linkpearl."

---

Ashley's linkpearl was ringing from within one of his desk drawers, muffled doubtless from the weight of several unfinished reports. He sifted through stack after stack in his efforts to find it, though the dim lanternlight cast strange shadows over each nook and crevice. When at last he took hold of the linkpearl between his fingers, he noted the caller's coordinates with faint surprise.

"Hey," he said, by way of introduction, not using her name in case others were within the vicinity.

"Hey," Élodie echoed.

"Haven't gotten around to checking Shasras Hill yet," he continued, without any further preamble. "I expect I'll be there by the end of the week; I doubt much will have changed by then."

"Thank you, but that isn't it." Sure enough, he could hear a hint of laughter in her voice. "I wanted to let you know that I ran into Miss Ashelia and her three compatriots outside the western quarry stair late this afternoon."

The western quarry stair. The groan that left him was exasperated and awed all at once. "Well," he said, "thank you. For keeping them all out of trouble."

"Before you ask, I'd be shocked if they saw anything untoward."

"Eurgh." He rubbed at his own nose. "Gods."

"Don't give her too hard of a time, Ashley. She's four, yes? I imagine she won't remember a thing, so long as you don't give her any reason to."

"Right," he replied. "And when she wanders directly into a brothel next time-"

"-then Violet or one of the others will turn her over to me." He had a suspicion she was rather enjoying herself. "None of my people would ever dare to undermine you, or yours."

She spoke with well-warranted surety - and her loyalty, of all things, could never be found wanting. "Of course not. ...Thank you, Élodie."

"You're very welcome."

A silence stretched out across the linkpearl then, one that might have been natural if they had been speaking in person.

"Does she remind you of him?" Élodie said at last.

"Yeah." The word caught somewhere in his throat, or else in the still air of the darkened Kingsguard office; he knew only that his chest was tight, and warm with love and pain. "...Every day."

[jenovahh]

KYKM - 14 Months, 7 1/2 Days

Though his heart leaps in his chest, only through years of practice is he able to maintain his neutral expression as he turns to the owner of the voice that had called his name.

There you stand, the very picture of disbelief, greatsword looking as it might fall out of your hand at any moment. Your emotions flit across your face too fast for him to take note of each of them, stunned for so long that eventually more footsteps are heard as the Scions emerge from the stairwell.

“Warrior of Light, is all well,” First one gasp, than many eyes land on him.

“Zenos?”

“But how did he,”

“By what manner,”

All chatter is silenced as he shifts his weight, sending the group of heroes on guard. “Well. I can see why our entrance was met with little resistance.” The white-haired male, Thancred he remembers, unsheathes his gunblade. The others follow suit, weapons wielded as a wry smile tugs at his lips. “How on earth did you get here?”

“I walked.” He drawls, further amused as it seems to rile up the other man.

“Thancred, ‘tis not the how that matters...” Urianger begins, eyes narrowing on him, “but why.”

“And just what will you all do if I refuse to tell any of you about my reasoning?” He challenges, hand slowly reaching for his sword as he delights in watching them squirm.

A single upraised hand from you is all it takes to stop their bickering, eyes cold and hard as they focus on him. “Keep going.”

Immediately the notion of being alone with him doesn’t sit well with anyone. “But we can’t leave him,” Alphinaud tries but you stop him with just a look.

“What can you do now, that you could not when we were liberating Ala Mhigo?” you ask lowly. Alphinaud freezes at that, before quickly realizing your anger is not directed at him, but at the man across the room. You are right though; there is no challenging someone of his might, he who has defied death itself. 

“Continue on to Vauthry.” you order, turning back to face him. “I will deal with him.” The other Scions all pass each other worried glances, but do as you say, continuing further upward the city.

Alone with you now, he realizes just how long it had been since he had last laid eyes on you. Not much has changed, save for that hardened look in your eyes, though it was not hard to guess that was of his own doing. “Must you look so hostile Warrior?”

Your eyes narrow impossibly further, slinging your greatsword to sit upon your shoulder. “Why are you here?” you ask, practically hissing like a snake with the most potent of venom. Shrugging, he gives no effort to appear peaceable as he moves from behind the counter, stepping out into the open space of the plaza.

“Why do you think?” he replies with his own question. You are barely controlling your fury, he can tell. It is taking all of your control to hold yourself back in this moment. “I came for you.” he answers truthfully, resting a hand on his sword.

“You would chase me across worlds, for your duel wouldn’t you?” The sound of swords connecting is sharp, familiar in his ears as you stand before him, pressing your sword against his own. He had not seen you move but had felt it all the same, his blade singing from the contact. His blood followed suit, rushing through his veins.

“I would chase you across worlds hero. I am here, am I not?” he murmurs, sending you skidding backwards across polished marble floor. He calls his power forth, feeling your strength brush harshly against his own. You do not speak again, launching yourself at him, swinging your sword that is practically the size of your body.

The ferocity you bear against him is something he has not felt since the first time you truly came to blows as equals.

When you had fought to win.

The anger in your eyes shines brighter than any gem, the gleam of your power brighter than the constant light that bathed this accursed land. Try as he might, the call of battle is infectious, tantalizing, that he can’t help but break out into a feral grin as you somersault into the air to bring down your sword upon him once more.

Show me why I chose you, and you alone.

It would be a disservice to you, to hold back when you give him your all.

Zenos is not above being flashy; unleashing Concentravity with little effort to gain some ground between the two of you. He was glad he had chosen to bring along his sword revolver, the gears clicking within like music as they came to a stop. He starts with The Swell, hair whipping about his shoulders as the wind picks up.

With a swipe of his blade, petals fly through the air as well as you, barely able to catch yourself before slamming into a wall much like Ran’jit did earlier. Your reflexes are better, faster, allowing you to use the momentum to vault yourself off the wall, sword aimed straight for him as he moves to quickly dodge out the way. A nearby counter is destroyed by the impact, your expression unchanged as you emerge from the rubble.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you.” You growl, reaching your hand out as dark, purple magic oozes in your hand. Clutching your stomach you cough as it disappears inside you, eyes glowing a sharp purple before you throw yourself at him once more. You swing your greatsword with remarkable ease, hitting him with the same attack over and over, to the point where he must dual wield if he wants a chance of withstanding your assault.

You have grown in strength.

That isn’t to say he had been slacking either, grinning as he merges the power of The Swell and The Storm, electric wind surrounding the two of you, sparks racing across your skin. You grit your teeth, eyes shining brightly as you resist his strength, his might that he had built to keep up with your constantly changing power. 

He had only ever wanted to match his equal. Ever since the beginning.

“Nothing could keep me from you, dear Warrior.” With a slice of his blade you hiss in pain as he nicks your arm, your eyes like steel as they look upon him. But even beneath that flinty stare, he can see the exhilaration that is mirrored in his own eyes. The thrill of battle that keeps you both coming back. 

“How did you even get here?” you ground out, locking blades with him once more, your fangs bared to catch his eye. Claws prepared to rip and tear and maim his skin. You had yet to draw his blood, but that did not mean he would not have a bruise or two tomorrow. 

For even for when you did not hold back, you still did, unable to cut him.

“Does the how matter, hero? Even your friend had said so, did he not...” he dodges a series of black pillars surrounding you, swapping swords to bring out Ame-no-Habakiri, it’s red tint shining brightly in the room. “It only matters why.”

“Then why?!” You roar, clutching your chest, more black, dark magic pouring from your body. He watches in mild shock as a shadow figure like yourself emerges, red eyes flashing brightly as an equally dark sword manifested. “Why would you hunt me down?!” You rush him first, your shadow not far behind.

Wielding two swords, he fends off the dual attacks, nearly overwhelmed by your power. “It hurts to see you!” you yell, swinging your sword in a dangerous arc, his sword barely able to stop the blow from landing. “It hurts to know you lied!” he gasps as your expression finally breaks, tears streaming from your eyes as you prepare another devastating attack.

But there was nothing more devastating than seeing you shed tears.

“I did lie.” he murmurs, taking advantage of your emotional state to send you flying away from him, the shade vanishing in wisps of shadow. “I did hurt you.” Face still tear stained, you run at him again, teeth gleaming. “I have hunted you down.” Catching your sword with his, he moves quickly, twirling with all the grace of a trained solider. You’re too slow this close, one hand knocking the wind out of you with a swift punch to the gut, the other taking your greatsword in hand and flinging it across the floor.

“I should be clearer with my words.” The movements are practically muscle memory as you struggle to fight back, his hand blocking yours before he could disable your movement. You are still very much a threat without a weapon to channel your aether, he had to remind himself, but in hand to hand combat he was superior in pure physical strength. Exhaustion shows in your blows, having spent all of your energy on bigger attacks. 

He goes on the offensive, feels the force of his blows on your body that he knows hurts, but holding back would be an insult. “When I said nothing could keep me from you, I meant nothing.” he growls as your fist strikes him across the face. He’s quick to retaliate, catching your chin with a solid uppercut, blood dripping from your busted lip. “Have I not chased you across worlds, to see you?” He barely dodges a swipe at his face, taking that wrist in hand to swing you into the closest wall.

And still you stand.

Rushing you down, he pins you there, placing his thigh between your legs, pinning your arms against the wall. You are too weak too fight against him as he bears his weight against you, your eyes wild and defiant as you glare up at him. “Get away from me!” you snarl, struggling against your restraints.

“Never,” he whispers, letting go of one wrist for a moment, to capture your chin, bringing your lips to his own. You struggle still, even as his mouth moves across your own, body trying to push him away. Your free hand finds his hair and pulls, bringing a deep moan from his throat that leaves you stunned. Pulling away, his eyes are half lidded, desire dancing brightly within them. “You are free to do that again, if you wish.” he thrums, delighting in your expression.

You are bloodied and bruised, hair wild and mussed. Your armor is stained with your blood and his own, from a glancing blow he had not realized you had landed. Your eyes are still frenzied, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you stare back at him in disbelief.

Never have you looked more beautiful.

“What other reason,” he grips your chin tighter, presses closer against you, “would I have to cross worlds, hunt you down? For one battle?” he laughs. “Nay...you are mine hero.” His grin is roguish as he flips his hair from his face, eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You know this.”

Your face is red hot, body slowly relaxing in his hold. That grip on his hair loosens and your struggles slowly cease. “To chase you down across realms...to follow you for months on end. To make peace with the only other Garleans on the continent. Living amongst your people for months as I researched a way to find you.” His grip unconsciously tightens. “I have trained with you, rescued you, stayed by your side. Why else would I have come?”

All is silent save for the sound of your shared breath, the sound of heartbeats pounding in his ears. “You came for me?” you whisper so quietly, that were he not so close he would not have heard you.

“Always.” He whispers, claiming your lips once more.

[geirskogull]

Important - Chapter 1 - Loss

a Colab fic between myself and @momomomodi ft. something we short hand call DRK Haurchefant AU 

Danica Voss and Aveline de Bontensont are two very different Warriors of light, but also two very good friends. Even now, five years down the line when loss has colored them so different than they use to be. They mourn the loss of one so important to both their lives, only to have that ritual practice interrupted by their own minds and ascian fuckery.

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Words: 2.6 K

Rating: M

It was a slow day at the Quicksand. The people of Ul’dah bustled in and out as they always did, going about their business, making deals, living their lives. Two individuals seated at a corner table mourned the loss of one. It was the anniversary of Haurchefant’s death, the day when the spear of light pierced through the metal of his shield and speared him. The day when they had held his hands as the light faded from his eyes. The day when his life blood seeped into the stones of the Vault. Danica Voss sat, mourning the loss of her first love. A man so kind and loving, who cherished her as though she were the most valuable thing on Hydaelyn. Who craved to protect those he loved. Who died fulfilling his life’s wish. Aveline de Bontensont sat, mourning the loss of her best friend. A man she had known since the tender age of 11, who she helped to rescue when the stress of his family became too much to bear. A boy who only wished to serve as a Knight of Ishgard. Who took an arrow unarmoured for his best friend. A boy so courageous, he gave his life for those dearest to him. A man who would never know the truth behind the Dragonsong War but died with love in his heart and a smile on his lips.

Voss inhaled, closing her eyes as she raised her glass. Words swirling through her head, muddled by the echo of Ul’dah behind her. to paint the monument to a man who deserved one far more permanent. Light danced through the pale liquid, reflecting off of it, sparkling. Gentle whispers of memory floated through her mind as she remembered some of his most gentle words towards her. “Like gold”  he whispered “Rare and brilliant and beautiful, your eyes are the pinnacle of you.”  She said nothing, finding any toast lackluster, and gave Aveline a sad smile. 

Francel was right, it never did get any easier.

Though this ritual they had made probably didn’t help its chances. A yearly remembrance, somber and fueled by booze, far far from where he laid.  She downed her drink, shook her head, and gave a sad smile. “I know by this time I’m normally sobbing into my twelfth glass, but count it as a record that I’m not. So what do we now? Trade stories?” She asked, shrugging and pouring herself another glass

Aveline sipped her drink, shrugging, “I suppose. Five years now, it still hurts to think of him.” It burned harshly in her chest every time her mind recalled him, scalding and painful. She couldn’t help but think of him as a young boy, angry and sad at the world. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. She took a long drink, letting the liquor fuel her. “Would… would you like to hear of how he earned his knighthood?” The story was a fond one though it reminded her too much of his death for her liking. He took the exact same stance as when he protected Francel that day. Tears burned in her eyes. Damn it, how could his death still have such hold over her? She buried her face in her hands for a long moment before looking back up at Danica and taking another long drink.

“No he told me that one.” The Half Elezen woman responded, tracing her eyes across the crowd, trying to find anything to occupy her mind instead of visages of cold stone. And the Dead. You’d think she’d be use to the dead by now, “about Francel and you and all that...” She smiled, thinking fondly of Haurchefant, sitting in front of the hearth in his room in Camp Dragonhead, speaking of his own adventures that “are not nearly as grand as yours, love”  all the while she sat there rapt, fascinated beyond reason, simply joyful she was getting to know, to see someone as more than just this warrior the world had decided to paint her.

To paint the both of them. 

She dug her fingers into the tablecloth, looking back at her glass and at Aveline. She knew her mourning was obvious, even now, especially to Aveline, but cracked a facsimile of a smile anyway. “Why not tell me something that makes you happy?”

The Elezen thought for a long moment, drumming her fingers on her glass. After a long moment, she smiled, “Our birthdays. We always spent them together. We had a small wooden cabin in the middle of Coerthas where someone would always bring a cake. We wouldn’t have to deal with families or politics or other people. It… it was just the three of us.” She looked down at her dress, fiddling absent-mindedly. Those days had passed. Now Haurchefant’s birthday had returned to only being a day like any other. She and Francel rarely had the time now to see one another, even when she was in Coerthas. Long had it been since laughter echoed in that cabin, now a vestige of their childhoods. She looked off into the distance, her eyes going glassy for a moment as she remembered the nights they had spent simply having fun with one another. The silver haired Elezen giving her piggybacks around the snow-covered hills, Francel laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes, moments spent in quiet acknowledgement of where their futures would lead them. “Hey, I know you’ll come back soon enough, Ace. Couldn’t bear to be away from our handsome faces for too long!” He had pulled Francel close to his side that day, the two of them beaming at her. Part of her wished that she had never left. Part of her wished she were there as a bystander the first time Danica, Alphinaud, and Tataru walked into Ishgard, murmuring about the newcomers who had passed through the gates. Not knowing anything of primals or the Empire or anything outside of the quiet isolation of Ishgard. She took another long drink, poured herself another glass, and downed that one as well.

Danica looked to her glass, envisioning simply days she had never seen - and thankfully the echo did not change that this time. A small smile dancing at the edge of her lips, imagining her friends, young and carefree. She emptied her glass in a fell swoop, liquid courage for questions and statements alike. Strange she still needed it after all these years. Aveline was a friend, probably one of her closest. Knew more about her than anyone else living, save maybe Estinien. And Haurchefant  her mind reminded her, she grimaced, hoping that she could play it off as the booze. The dead may know, but they do not speak. 

She inhaled, reaching for the bottle, but stopping herself. If she continued at this rate she’d be back to her usual “crying incoherently into her glass” phase before the hour was up. She swallowed hard, and reached into the collar of her shirt, fishing out a necklace holding a simple ring. She twisted it in her hand, flicking her eyes back up to Aveline. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” She inquired, hoping to pry thoughts away from her strange display of restraint in her consumption. 

Danica’s voice snapped Aveline from her thoughts. Her eyes flickered to the ring, to the glass, to Danica, “Of course.” Her eyes flicked down to her own ring on her left hand. She watched Danica carefully, sipping her own drink while she waited for the question to come.

“Why did you leave Ishgard, initially?” the Ala Mhigan tilted her head not unlike a curious dog. She couldn’t think of any reason she would want to willingly leave her home, at least not as young as she met Aveline. Hells, she would have sold her left kidney to be back in Bittermill, with her parents, and the inn. She shivered, trying to force her mind's eye away from that burning wreck of a town. Even with Orlaux back and Maerwynn buried, the ache that ate at her chest was too much, especially today.

Aveline took a deep breath, “My brother, partially. My parents loved him, far more than my sister or I. The “Knight of Ishgard”.” She shook her head slowly, “I had wanted to learn, to see other parts of Eorzea. It didn’t help that I didn’t care for Ishgard’s rules. So, I left, made arrangements to stay somewhere in Thanalan, and left. It wasn’t easy,” She fidgeted with her glass, the liquid inside swirling slightly. “Quite honestly, I was terrified, but it scared me more to think of what my life might’ve been like if I had stayed. Would I have been married off to some distant noble who had some semblance of money or power?” She shook her head again. “What made you decide to join the Thaumaturges?” Let her shift the subject onto something she regretted less. Her mind continued to bombard her with the ‘what ifs’ of that decision, tormenting her with what might’ve been.

Danica cringed physically at the idea of an arranged marriage. That never made sense to her, why marry if not for love? Perhaps her perception was colored by her own creation. The Ishgardian noble who ran off with the Ala Mhigan sellsword, with all the good that did them. Nald’thal still took his due when decided, far too early for her liking. She also couldn’t understand the idea of loving some of your family more than others. Another relic of her shattered childhood, she never had the chance to meet her little brother. 

Her eyes snapped up, thankful to be reminded of something better? Perhaps? She was never really sure when it came to that life event. She downed her glass, and left it empty this time.

“I didn’t choose. It was the Thaumaturges guild, or they’d take off my hands for theft and throw me into blood sands for illegal usage of magics.” She replied, blunt and matter of fact. Chuckling after a moment of silence.

“You see, when I left little Ala Mhigo” When The Echo forced out, too much pain, too much suffering and what had she decided to do? Go to the big city? Where yet more awaited her? “I came here, I wasn’t alone, of course I had Coyote and Zara but we were 12 and didn’t have any money. One day when were rifling through a fruit merchants trash for our breakfast the merchant caught us and sent us running. His guards after us.” Brutish fellows, not averse to cleaning  up the streets of some street rat refuges. “They caught Zara by the tail, and I wasn’t about to let anything bad happen to my fa- my friend that I panicked and somehow lit the man on fire”

“They grabbed me, shoved me in a little metal cell while Zara and Coyote ran, and told me to await my sentencing.” She continued, confined areas still bothered her. She had a hard time breathing in them. She needed to see the sky. Or at least have a very tall ceiling. “Then Cocobusi came in and asked me where I learned my magic and I said I didn’t know any. Then he asked me if I wanted to learn. I said anything was better than the Bloodsands, and he agreed. Thus, Thaumaturges Guild.”

It was almost funny now, the first domino on her path to “Warrior of Light”-dom. “What about you? Why not the pugilist guild or the Arcanists guild of Limsa?” She asked, reflecting back the question to her friend.

Aveline looked over at Momodi for a moment, “In all honesty? I wanted to rebel. My brother had always been the perfect White Knight. I wanted to learn the so called “Black Magic”.” She looked down at her skirt. Would Haurchefant have been disappointed in her for that decision? She shuddered, playing with her glass. She sat in silence for a moment. “Do you think he would be proud of who we are now?” She spoke softly, looking up at Danica.

Danica paused, going as still as a statue as the words wreaked havoc on her thoughts and her heart. Would he be proud of who they were now? No. Her mind said at first. She was brutal, violent, and cared less and less for the world as a whole as the days went on. She cared only about the survival of those closest to her, those she considered her people. She smiled still, but it was never real. Only Feral. And those parting words, nothing but a twisted mockery of their intention, repeated like a mantra now, to keep her going even when all things told her to rest. 

Yes. Her mind also shouted, was it Fray? Was it Odin? Was it some other part of her that she didn’t have a name for? He’d be proud because they kept going. They didn’t wallow in their sadness, even as it threatened to overcome them. It clung to them, yes, but life did that. But they kept going. Kept doing good. Moved forward towards grand horizons that he never got to see. 

“I don’t know.” she voiced those words cautiously. Thinking of all the things stolen from him, all the moments in time stolen from them. Was it worth making his hypothetical ghost proud, if his actual form wasn’t there to see it? “I don’t know, I will not and cannot speak for him. But... I’d like to think so.” I don’t know if I could handle otherwise. She thought, but did not say.

“What about you? You knew him much longer than me, what say you?” She asked, a heavy question for a heavy question weighing strong upon her neck much akin to the golden band that hung there. Remembering his words. Making her promise that she’d wait to tell people till after he told his father. Never getting the chance. 

She still had a hard time looking Count Fortemp in the eyes sometimes.

The Elezen woman sat for a long while in silence. Would he be proud of who she had become? A silent protagonist in a story filled with so many voices. She had changed so much since she had first known him. No longer was she a young girl, full of life and cheer. No. Now she was a woman filled with responsibilities and obligations. “A Knight lives to serve.” Was serving the people of Eorzea worth giving up everything she used to be? She was cold, calculating. The ice to Danica’s flame. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly smiled. She twisted her ring on her finger, absentminded, distracted. “I think he would have been proud of us for continuing on. For not letting his… his death stop us.” She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat for a moment. She looked back at the ring Danica wore around her neck, silently acknowledging it. Taking a deep breath, she poured herself another drink, downing it quickly. Haurchefant wouldn’t be proud of her for drinking her pain away. For trying to forget. Forget the look in his eyes as the life faded from them. She flinched as through she had been slapped. Halone help her.

Danica sat up, determined and inspired by her friends dour confirmation. Raising her glass, she began. “Well then, To us.” She started, extending arm in a toast. “May we keep making him proud.” The clink of glasses that followed rang hollow in their hearts, devoid of such an integral piece for so long.

[efrmellifer]

Ebrius

It was Etien’s turn to surprise him.

Well, if that made any sense, seeing as last time Aymeric had surprised her in the way she was technically referring to was before Ala Mhigo was even fully freed.

Regardless. He wasn’t expecting her, hadn’t sent her the command to “come home to him” (gods, she was still swooning at that), and she had confidence that seeing as maybe three days had passed over her last two-week journey to Ishgard, a similar amount of time would pass for a shorter trip. So it was her turn to show up and give him a very pleasant surprise.

Still, she felt herself blushing and her ears flattening as she made her way to the Aetheryte, mumbling halves of apologies and explanations.

“I’m sorry I keep… doing this… Going stir-crazy… loved the Greatwood, it reminded me of the Shroud, but that thing following me...”

She couldn’t believe herself. She was so brave in the face of mortal danger, but her friends who loved her were scary?

Well, yes. If she died, she died. If her friends got so mad at her they left her behind… Not to mention, people who loved you could still hurt your feelings.

She flattened out further at the memories, but relaxed once she was getting ready for Aetheryte travel. She had to look good when she got to Ishgard.

She trotted along the cobblestones, every step springy. She was excited, put simply. It felt silly to say,  too obvious, or maybe just too obvious about her feelings, but she liked seeing Aymeric, liked being around him.

It was soothing. It grounded her. Between the storms of light on the First, she could always come home.

And here she was. She grabbed for her key (glad she’d finally asked Aymeric for one, and he’d responded that he’d had one ready for her for moons, just waiting for her to want it), and unlocked the gate, then the door.

...oh, gods.

At first, she was worried about poisoning, or something of that nature, until she sank to her knees next to Aymeric and he slurred out a greeting.

The smell of copious amounts of alcohol hit her nose then, and she crinkled it. “Been drinking, have we? Let me guess, Estinien invited you out and Gibrillont spurred you both on.”

Aymeric giggled. “That was hours ago.”

“Were you sick?”

He shook his head. “I’m tougher than that.”

Etien exhaled sharply through her nose, something of a laugh. “That you are, darling.” She paused, thinking. “Careful, though, you don’t want the room to start spinning.”

“’s why I’m on the ground.”

Etien’s eye widened. “You didn’t fall, did you?”

“I laid down of my own accord.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Why are you here?” he asked suddenly, eyebrows dipping together.

“I just came to see you,” she answered simply.

“Hmm.”

Etien sighed, hoping it wasn’t audible, and mentally added a little, I didn’t expect to find you like this. I thought you might be asleep, and I would have to slip into bed with you, feel you curl against me and relax, sighing happily. But no, you’re blind drunk, sprawled on your floor. Our flo—the floor.

She sat back, landing on her rear instead of staying on her haunches, and let the heavy breath count as another sigh, launching into more grousing in her mind. I can’t even be mad at Estinien, because he was likely trying to do you a favor, keep your spirits high. Though I dare say you drank him to the poorhouse.

“Where’s Estinien?” She asked.

“He went home. Said he’d sleep on his side in case it repeated on him.”

Etien’s nose crinkled, and she made a mental note to check on Estinien in the morning. He might need his hair washed, too. She shook her head, trying to shake the unfortunate image from her mind before it turned her stomach.

“Sweetheart, you should be in bed. You’d be more comfortable and at no risk of ruining this rug.”

“I told you, I doubt getting sick is in my future.”

She bit her lip before she said anything too quickly. “Just seems like you drank a lot.”

“I suppose that is true,” Aymeric replied finally. “Help me up?”

She did, getting him to sit up, then rising into a crouch to get him standing. Gods have mercy, she was going to have to hold him up. She was willing, to be sure, but she knew how tall he was, and how tall she wasn’t. She leaned into him hard, hoping she could be enough of a buttress. She grabbed his hand to loop his arm around her shoulders, and started guiding him through the house.

“Good thing you know where we have to go,” Aymeric said with a chuckle. Etien tried to smile, still taking plodding steps to stay pressed against him. He was so lucky she was this deeply in love with him. And that she wasn’t a home invader. She shook her head, leading him towards the bedroom.

She opened the door as quickly as she could, willing herself to continue all the way to the bed. When she let him go, Aymeric lay down again, across the bed instead of the usual way. She just sighed.

Even now, she did adore him. She took off her gloves, putting them on the table on her side of the bed, then got to the task of getting Aymeric undressed. She had to; he couldn’t sleep comfortably in all this.

Had they been drinking from the second he left the Congregation? Gods.

She cracked her knuckles, then began to work at Aymeric’s clothing.

He slapped her hands away. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you ready for bed.” She tried again, and he swiped at her. “What?”

“Leave me alone,” he sighed.

Etien’s shoulders fell. She took a deep breath, begging Llymlaen to guide her every move, so this didn’t end as badly as she was getting afraid it would.  

“I need to get these off you. I want you to--” he grabbed her wrist. It wasn’t very hard, but it did get her attention and silence her.

“Madam, I am a married man. This is flattering, but you have to stop.”

She buried her face in her hands, sighing into them. “Fine. Just the armored parts? For your comfort, I swear to the Twelve.”

He seemed to acquiesce to that, so she worked the pieces away. Thank goodness she had practice. Not that that was probably very comforting to Aymeric at the moment.

“She’s beautiful, you know,” he said, still a little slurry.

“Who is?”

“My wife. She has this bright, curling hair and eyes like precious stones. Sometimes I think she was given to me as a gift from the gods. She’s too good, almost perfect.”

“Oh yes?” Etien couldn’t help but smile a little. Almost perfect. He was quickly regaining all those points he’d lost for swiping at her and grabbing her. She kept working, and when she was done, Aymeric looked up at her, almost panicked, like a caught creature being readied for the stew.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, seeming to realize now that he was much drunker than he’d thought.

She laid her hand on his cheek, giving him a soft smile as she let her thumb stroke over his cheekbone. “Nothing you don’t want me to, darling. Can I get you better settled in this bed?”

He looked away, thinking, then nodded to her. She got herself seated on the bed, then him slotted between her legs (still on his back, more in her open lap than anything), then pushed with her feet to kick the covers back and drag him towards his pillows.

Once he was properly placed, she tucked him in, brushing back his bangs. “Sleep well, all right?”

He looked at her, just a little bleary-eyed. “I will. Hang on. Why do you have my mother’s ring?”

“Oh, this?” she asked, flashing her wedding ring. “It was a gift. It must look very similar. Do you share your mother’s exquisite taste in jewelry?”

“I must,” he murmured. “I gave her ring to my wife.”

Etien chuckled. “I would bet she loves it.”

He smiled. “She does. You know, you actually are quite beautiful.”

She almost laughed, but managed to make it a simple smile this time. “Thank you. Just rest.”

Aymeric shut his eyes, and Etien left, closing the door behind her.

She came in a little later, leaving a bucket just in case, and taking the opportunity to stroke Aymeric’s hair some more. It hadn’t been what she’d wanted out of the visit, but she was glad, at least, that it had been her to find him. And that she had this.

Strands of his hair passed through her fingers, and she sighed. That was enough; she didn’t want to wake him.

She padded down to the usual loveseat, and pulled the blanket they used to stay warm while cuddling over herself.

Mm, it smelled like Aymeric… and tea leaves… and home.

She fell asleep easily, cocooned in warmth and the familiar scents, though she wished there were more to the cocoon than cloth.

She woke in the morning equally easily, and made her way to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she cracked eggs into a pan.

Protein, Aymeric needed protein…

She made a pot of tea while she cooked, and by the time it was all done and on a tray, she heard shuffling from the bedroom. She was careful as she carried the tray, stopping and knocking once on the door.

“Come in,” Aymeric said, sounding like he was certainly suffering the effects of too much to drink.

“Good morning,” Etien crooned, trying not to be too shrill or loud. “Think you can handle some food?”

“Etien,” he breathed. “How long have you been here?”

“I got here last night,” she answered, offering him a piece of toast. He nibbled on it, and finding it went down okay, took the whole tray from her.

“How late?” He sipped the tea.

“I saw the aftermath of your little revelry with Estinien, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Aymeric groaned. “I was. Was I very difficult?”

Etien laughed, a deep, hearty belly laugh. “I suppose not too horrible. I was frustrated but honored how vehemently you told your rescuer that she needed to stop touching you because you were married.”

Aymeric closed his eyes, about to laugh.

“And then you nearly called me a jewel thief for wearing my own wedding ring!”

Now he just sighed. “Well, I am sorry for that.”

Etien shook her head, pressing her forehead against his. “Please don’t apologize. It’s like you always say—that was my vow, to take care of you.” She pecked him on the lips.

“You’re too good to me,” he whispered.

“Almost perfect?” She asked, feeling her tail trying to curl around his lack of one.

He didn’t answer, just kissed her.