#bijou is my baby and don't you dare make fun of her

[egoiistas]

jewel of the sun (1) - foster

a/n: hello. hehe

ao3

Ffxiv (Post ARR/HW) - Warrior of Light contemplates the aftermath of the Ul'dahn banquet from the cold, unfeeling lands of Ishgard.

In her experience, the cold had never been so vicious. It numbs and chills her to the bones as she watches the blizzard rage from within the confines of her foster home. It is a force that whips and lashes against the grey stones of the city - the street below barely visible. It is a vengeful power born in the wake of the Seventh Umbral Calamity, blinding and bright, as if the land itself deemed those who walk among it are no longer worthy of her fruits.

Coerthas is cold, yes - but she never had to regard it with any sort of permanence. A jaunt to Camp Dragonhead for the odd job had her break out her rose pink glacial coat, but, at the end of the day, she could always count on hanging it up until the next visit. Home and warmth was always an aetheryte transport away.

When her fingers touch the window, she feels the Ishgardian cold spread along her skin, sapping the heat from her flesh. This land is the opposite of her - her antithesis. It offers no space for fire to exist naturally. For it to persist, it must be protected and coddled. Extra measure required to shelter and foster any sort of flame. The wind will not pity it, the snow will not sympathize.

Her hand retracts from the window pane and squeezes her fingers into her palm before the cold can sting.

She is grateful to have found asylum in this frigid land for there wasn’t another.

B’jou Belhi, known as the Warrior of Light, and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn are wanted and accused of regicide. The notion is ludicrous even now and would be to anyone who had two brain cells to spark together. Yet, someone took advantage that the Warrior of Light was in the right place at the right time; ripe for framing. All that she did, every danger she faced since arriving in Gridania - Ifrit, Garuda, Titan, Leviathan, Ramuh, Garleans, Ascians, Ultima - and her word meant nothing. The events transpired with such quickness she barely had time to organize her thoughts. She had felt out of place, out of touch - out of her mind and worst of all, helpless. A guilt, heavy in her gut, rematerializes every time she’s reminded of the faces of her fellow Scions in her mind’s eye. How they had urged her to leave them behind.

Papalymo and Yda. Y’shtola and Thancred. Minfilia.

She had been utterly helpless.

Tears come to her easily and she sheds them just as freely.

All she was able to carry with her was the clothes on her back, Alphinaud, Tataru, and the moments burned into her mind of her found family staying behind so that she could escape. The forces that be - the Scions, Ser Aymeric, House Fortemps, the Echo, Hydaelyn - worked to ensure she continued on.

To those concerned, B’jou Belhi perishes in the rubble in her attempt to elude capture. She and her history are entombed in sewers beneath Ul’dah and the howling winds of Ishgard eulogize in her stead. The Eorzean Alliance would have to think twice about using their resources to chase an adolescent Elezen and a Lalafell that have taken refuge in Ishgard.

The glass shudders from a gust of wind carrying snowflakes turned into knives and despite it all, something burns in her breast. In Ishgard, a name like B’jou Belhi stands out. The naming convention singles her out in race and as the Warrior of Light or as the slayer of gods. To some, it was once the name to be prayed in reverence as the reincarnation of Azeyma. The given name bestowed to a stolen daughter belonging to no one.

Housed within her are the sneers and malicious looks of those who took her goodness for granted, twisted it for their schemes - serving as fuel. Facets of what made her B’jou Belhi are thrown into the funeral pyre, kindle for the flame to rise and dance within her so that she may rise anew.

In the backdrop of a blizzard, Bijou Bordeaux emerges from the ashes, smoke flowing off her skin, carrying with her that which she burnt so that she’ll never forget.