#elene’shpya

[45liza109]

Grief’s discovery

[wkngsnds]

How it started:

How it’s going:

[meracydia-miqo]

mallards

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

To Grieve in His Own Way (Prompt 4 - Reticent)

(Dawntrail MSQ spoilers from ~lvl 97 on.)

---

Someone needed to tell Iyaate about…her. 

About Cahciua.

About his mother.

It should be a simple task, made even simpler by his preference for brevity. All he needed was a little more time to marshal his mind and his heart. To figure out what to say.

My mother, Cahciua…she is dead.

If their fortunes were reversed - if it was Cahciua mourning Iyaate - she would doubtless throw a celebration of life. There would be music and feasting, shared stories and archery contests, and little time for tears or sorrow. At times he could scarce believe Cahciua was Shetona, let alone his mother.

Erenville closed his eyes, smoothing out the hitch in his breath. He exhaled, and the walls of his quarters no longer felt so suffocatingly close.

Cahciua is gone.

Iyaate would react more appropriately, with sorrow.

Erenville dreaded that, too.

Only the Warrior knew of his unfinished business, and she left him well enough alone save for the occasional searching glance from the corner of her eye.

For a time.

Finally, like a huntress coming across mortally wounded prey caught in a hunter’s trap, she took pity on him. In a moment where she brushed past him, she murmured that she would bear the news to Iyaate on his behalf, if he so wished.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

The resentment he felt came and went as quick as a flash of levin. Erenville knew he should apologize. But she had been traveling with him long enough to know better; should know that he could never accept such a thing.

Even for a Viera woman, the Warrior was remarkably implacable. She regarded him in her careful, expressionless way, then nodded. Accepting. No need to explain further. And for that, Erenville was grateful.

No, he did not look forward to telling Iyaate. Yes, each footstep toward Tuliyollal’s gate felt leaden even without his pack on his shoulders.

But on his pride–

–as Cahciua’s son–

–out of respect for Iyaate– 

–these tidings were his to bring.

---

And yet Erenville considered, as he handed the reins of the rented rroneek over to the stablehand, simply walking straight back out of Sheshenewezi Springs and into the wilds. Walk, and ignore that pustule of a dome over Yyasulani until he found a place suitably remote so that he could–he didn’t know. Stand there? Dig his nails into his palms until this seething knot around his heart finally loosened?

What he knew with certainty was that he wanted to be alone. He missed those long stretches of wandering with the road as his only companion. He had grown accustomed to all of the many people who orbited around The Warrior and around Wuk Lamat, but none of them truly knew what he needed or understood how to give it. 

Each had tried, in their own way: a kind word from Krile, an offer of drinks from Thancred, a B’raax-sized hug from Wuk Lamat that briefly took him off his feet. But none of them were culturally Shetona, and all seemed to prefer company in their times of sorrow. He’d had no time to grieve by himself, in his way. 

But ill-equipped as he was beyond basic survival skills, Erenville had to acknowledge that anywhere that was far enough away from people would be too dangerous for him to tread. 

Gods, this headache he had was terrible.

It was unsettling, walking into one of his mother’s old stomping grounds, and nobody knew she was gone. Surely many across Shaaloani knew her, and those who met her seldom forgot her; his mother blazed a bright path wherever she went, with her adventurous spirit and too-loud voice and embarrassingly emotive ways and…

It was like she never existed, just as it was in Yyasulani. Even Iyaate was haunting her usual spot on the porch outside her house.

“Elene’shpya! How are you? How is Cahciua?”

Erenville closed his eyes against his old name. He didn’t have the energy to correct her. Not right now. 

“Iyaate.” 

A pause, a breath. The knot tightened. Make it quick. She was used to his brusqueness. “I have news.”

Iyaate’s lips parted and her brows knitted. “Yes?”

Something in the way he spoke betrayed him; the look dawning in Iyaate’s eyes was proof. Reflexively, Erenville crossed his arms and looked away. So why did he have to say anything else? He wished she would spare him from having to say it. 

She did not.

“I…did see her,” Erenville finally managed. The words felt thick, and his throat felt dry. He swallowed. “But she is…” 

None of the words he had rehearsed felt right. Dead. Gone. No longer with us. Threw her life away–

He didn’t even know how she died. 

Erenville still couldn’t meet Iyaate’s eyes. 

“...dead, Iyaate. She is dead.”

He stood there as stiffly as if he himself were a corse; he couldn’t help it. He wished he had something to look at, but his view was blocked on either side by the dull, weather-worn timber sides of the houses around them.

“Oh, Elene’shpya…” 

Iyaate took a step forward, arms beginning to open, but Erenville cleared his throat and she caught herself. There was, however, nothing he could do about the sorrow that now creased her face.

“Do you know how she…?” Iyaate began.

Erenville’s fingers dug into his arms. 

“Well,” she amended, “it doesn’t matter. I know she would have gone out her own way, on her own terms.”

You don’t know that, Erenville didn’t say. He didn’t say anything at all, and it made for an awful silence. 

He had delivered the news, done his duty. He wished he could turn around and walk away, but Iyaate deserved better. He waited for her to say something that he could reasonably infer as a dismissal.

Instead, Iyaate stared at him, hard. “Wait here for a moment.” She turned on her heel and went into the house.

He could slip away while she was gone. He was tempted–

But she was already back, bow strung and quiver readied.

“Let’s go,” she said, stepping down from the porch. “I want to take a walk, and I want you to come with me.”

Erenville opened his mouth.

“Yes, there is a reason, Elene’shpya. Now follow me.”

Erenville gripped his elbows and stayed put. “Iyaate, this is a courtesy call. I cannot stay.”

“Then do me the courtesy of following me. It won’t take long.”

Small wonder she and his mother had gotten along.

---

He and Iyaate walked out into the plains, far into the brush. In silence. They stayed well afield of the wavering blue shapes of cerulean bombs and anala, and the nopalitenders took no interest in them.

Erenville stared at Iyaate’s back as she strode a few steps ahead of him. At first he thought she planned to make her way to the cemetery - although it was largely a Tonawawtan burial ground, not Shetona - but on the outskirts of the Springs she had instead turned southwest, towards the plateaus. 

These plateaus rose before them now, their reddish, jutting stones marking the boundary between Shaaloani and Yyasulani. When he and Iyaate walked into their shadow, he understood.

Ancient slot canyons made slits through this boundary, with some entrances so well hidden - by the angle of the rock or the narrowness of the water source that long ago carved them - that Erenville only knew they had reached one by the remains of votive candles and dried flowers that marked one was nearby.

Iyaate stood at its entrance and whistled into it. She waited, then looked back at Erenville, tilted her head toward the passage, and slipped inside.

The slot canyon was barely broader than Erenville’s shoulders; if he had carried his gleaner’s pack, he would’ve had little choice but to leave it at the entrance. The curved sandstone brushed against both his and Iyaate’s clothes as they shuffled their way through. He swallowed down the feeling that the walls were hugging him tighter, pressing down and in–

The passage opened. Light filtered down into a small chamber. There were more wax stumps of candles here.

Iyaate put her hands on hips, surveying. Then she pointed to a small boulder with a flat-ish top.

“Sit here.”

Erenville sighed.

“I have done as you asked, Iyaate,” he said. “Are you going to explain this to me?”

She looked at him. Her arm remained outstretched.

Feeling a bit like a child told to go to the corner, he plopped himself down where she had indicated, irked.

“I’m going to walk the perimeter,” Iyaate said. “And you–are going to do whatever it is you need to do to grieve.”

Erenville sat up straighter, aghast. “What?” 

“Scream. Cry. I don’t care. But put your burdens down for a moment Elene’shpya, please.”

Erenville stretched his thumb and index to his temples and pressed down. His headache was worsening, he was sure of it. “You brought me all the way out here for…?”

Iyaate traced a sigil into the dirt in front of her. A bubble appeared at its center which spread - Erenville’s skin prickled - until it enveloped the chamber. Its glassy outline was visible in snatches.

“A spell of silence,” Iyaate said. “Only these walls will bear witness. I will guard the entrance until you are ready.”

She slipped away.

Erenville sat there, still dumbfounded. She was serious.

…He had no experience with silencing spells. Would such a spell simply swallow up his words, like a scream trapped in his throat? Would it even work?

“Iyaate!” he said, raising his voice. “Can you hear me?”

The sound rippled against the barrier. There was no response. 

He drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. This…wasn’t how he did things. He wasn’t his mother; he disliked emotional outbursts. Iyaate knew that. 

And yet…he felt a sound crawling up his throat, trying to get out. A sob, a scream? He choked it down, or tried. A high, lonesome sound whistled out.

Erenville buried his head against his knees to muffle the sound, mortified. He swallowed again, and it hurt. The pressure in his head was now pushing against his eyes.

And in this dry, arid place, where water had not traveled through in centuries, but had left its scars on the rock that now carved out this sanctuary–

Erenville finally wept.

[ecosystem-administrator]

Taken

Timeline: Late 7.0, some Dawntrail MSQ spoilers

There might be only one person in the world who understands Erenville well enough to explain what Mayhem has missed about their relationship.

It was a great surprise when, of all things, Cahciua took a moment to pull them aside.

“I don’t really know if I should be the one to say it, but I don’t have the time to wait and make sure he gets around to it,” she said, meeting their eyes with an unusually direct intensity. “What do you think of my Elene’shpya?”

“Erenville?” Mayhem corrected automatically, their eyebrows rising toward their hairline. “He’s one of the smartest people I know…or, rather, maybe it’s just that his knowledge is more useful than half of what I hear Urianger and Y’shtola talk about. That’s probably why he’s so hard to impress: he’s the best at what he does, or at least the best I’ve ever had the chance to meet. I’m just glad he’s willing to put up with the rest of us.”

“Oh, I knew it.” She seemed fondly exasperated, shaking her head. “So what you’re telling me is, you’re both fools. Why in the world wouldn’t he be impressed with you? Granted your reputation hasn’t made it across the salt, but I gather you’re some kind of world-saving champion who he’s doing his best to keep up with.”

“He talked about me?” Mayhem blinked. “Wait…he’s trying to keep up with me?”

“And that’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you.” Cahciua nodded. “…Look after him, all right? He’s more sensitive than he lets on. I don’t know where you two are going to end up, and honestly I don’t want to find out - but someone ought to understand him, and it sounds like he hasn’t made that easy.”

“I…yeah,” Mayhem managed, mind struggling under the load of running back over every interaction they’d had with Erenville through a different lens. They’d been associating with Erenville as themself all this time…but of course, of course Erenville had been reacting to and trying to impress the Warrior of Light, not goofy, down-to-earth Mayhem Moondrop who already thought he was cooler than almost anyone. Of course. “Sorry, I’m just realizing how dumb I’ve been. …He and I will have a lot to talk about once all this is over. I promise.”

[pyrophoricc]

FFxivWrite 2024 (Day 4) — Reticent

[MAJOR DAWNTRAIL SPOILERS]

“You keep looking at me.”

Erenville shrugged. “Long has it been my way to observe. It is simply a force of habit, and I apologize if it disturbed you.”

“You’ve seen so much,” Bheel replied, leaning back on his hands, his legs dangling over the edge of Tuliyollal’s pier. “I hardly think I’m something worth observing with such scrutiny.” Erenville scoffed.

“Surely you’re kidding.”

“I assure you that I’m not.”

“Why think so little of yourself?”

Bheel sighed. “Because I’m just a man, Erenville.” The silence stretched on, broken occasionally by the murmur of late-night revellers returning to their homes and the call of seabirds. He nearly missed what the other man said next.

“...Elene’shpya.”

“Pardon?” Bheel’s ears twitched, straining to catch Erenville’s quiet voice over the drone of the sea.

“I beg of you,” a flush crawled to his cheeks. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Bheel smiled slightly, despite himself. “I thought you hated that name.”

“I don’t!” Erenville replied sharply, then composed himself. “Well… Maybe I do. I think it is possible to both resent something and also fear losing it at the same time. I think, perhaps, that’s what family is, at times.” Bheel saw him tense slightly, fingers curling against the rough wooden planks beneath them. “So. As much as I do hate it, I think… I think I would hate for it to disappear. So you may use it. Sparingly. I trust you, and I think of all of us, you know the weight it carries most.” He fixed him with a piercing stare, and a part of Bheel recognized that the other man had figured him out more thoroughly than he had expected him to. Had expected anyone to, really.

“I’ll do that, then. But I can tell that there’s a point to all of this beyond just the name.”

Erenville tilted his head. “It all does circle back to the name, in the end. However… I’m being open with you, O Warrior of Light. It takes a weight off of the soul. You might try it, sometime. Even if I am not the one you choose to bare your thoughts to, I can tell by that sullen expression that you have carried all evening that it is something you are rather poor at doing.”

“That’s it, then? You think I’m not open?” 

The pointed stare continued, uninterrupted. Bheel acquiesced.

“Fine. I’ll admit that you may have a point.” He looked up, eyes roving across stars so familiar, yet so different from those he had grown used to. He recognized some of the constellations that he used to pick out during late night study in Limsa, and wondered if he would still remember how to find them in the Shroud. Back home, but then again, not home at all.

What was a home that wouldn’t even call you by name?

“...My mother’s…” he began, stilted, awkwardly. Gods, he truly was bad at it. “I took my mother’s name. She hated that I couldn’t simply fit into the mould of the dutiful daughter, couldn’t be content enough with my inheritance to kill the part of me that screamed it wasn’t for me. I told myself that I was taking it purely out of tradition, but if I’m being honest, I think it was spite more than anything. Which feels… Immensely foolish, really. But I don’t know that, even as I am now, I would choose any differently. I am Puhla’ir Bheeltoju. I am her sixth son, even if she will never see that. So… Elene’shpya… If I am to be entrusted with your hated, beloved name, I would trust you with mine as well. It’s only fair. And…” he trailed off. “I think you’re right. I really would hate to lose it.” He glanced at Erenville out of the corner of his eye. “How was that?”

Erenville laughed, but it was not unkind. He stood and placed a hand on Bheel’s shoulder. “It was terrible,” he said. “But it was a start, and you’ll have plenty of time to learn.”

[meracydia-miqo]

FFXIVWrite 2024 - Day 16: Third-rate

spoilers for late dawntrail

———

Third-rate.

That’s all she was, and all she would ever be. A weapon, useful only for combat, and useless anywhere else. A sword cast aside at the end of the war, exhausted of its value. Was that why the Scions didn’t care where she went, after their disbandment? When she was no longer needed to point at whatever villain she was to strike down next? That was what happened, after all, when she was called back as soon as something did pop up.

She could still hear the voices of her captors, back before it all began. ’Worthless scum!’ ‘Unsightly bag of flesh,’ ‘piece of sahagin shite.’ ‘You should be grateful the Navigator ever found you worthy enough to not drown in that ocean.’

She could never stand up at the same level as others. She was always the ‘other,’ sent off to do whatever they bid of her. She never should’ve expected for anything good to come of anything, because as much as the world could claim to love her, what use is a sword with no blade?

And what use is a sword that can’t even hit its target? Swung blindly in the night, sharp, but slicing naught but air. A weapon like her could never have anything for itself. It was just a tool, existing to be used.

And yet still she yearned, and knew she could never have.

It was foolish to imagine that just because she had been given any sort of break, to think that it could last. Why had she ever thought that things could be different, when she returned back to the Source and boarded that ship to sail to the new world? She wondered, at times, if she should’ve taken Erenville up on his admonition and drop out of helping with the Rite before it ever began. To go back home to Eulmore where she could have value outside of her fighting prowess.

“Q’lhani.”

She felt useless inside the dome. Walking into Tuliyollal and seeing the remains of a battle she could do nothing to prevent; walking in to the wasteland of what should’ve been, what had been just a week earlier, Erenville’s home. And now her only purpose was to go and defeat Zoraal Ja and stop a war and save everyone else, when all she had wanted was to live a life for once.

“Q’lhani.”

But she couldn’t. She was never going to be worthy of anything like that. A slave to the end, following others whims.

“Lhani, you’re doing it again.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, forcing her back into reality. She was standing in the ruins of Tesh’pyani, Erenville’s—nay, what should have been Elene’shpya’s home in front of her, now appearing only old, dilapidated, dead.

Alisaie stood beside her, staring up at her with a mix of concern and impatience, and when Q’lhani looked up, blinking to refocus her eyes, she saw the others, that strange new person (sfee…Sphere? Sphene? She still didn’t like her. Why should she even care about her name?) included, already a while ahead of them, heading down the path outside of the village.

She let out a grunt and looked away, unwilling to speak up. It didn’t matter. Why would it matter?

But Alisaie didn’t let up, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at her, glaring. Q’lhani missed sometimes when she was still almost a fulm shorter than her. There was only a few ilms between them now.

“You’re spiralling.”

Q’lhani didn’t have the bite in her to try and deny what she knew was true. Alisaie had picked up on as much over all the time they’d known each other, and even Dulia-Chai would tell her that’s what it was. It didn’t help her feel any better in the moment. Didn’t change everything that weighed down on her.

“Why should I even be here?” she grumbled. “I, me, personally. Do I even exist at this point?” She squirmed, trying to wriggle her way out of Alisaie’s grasp, but her hands only clenched tighter, holding her in place. The hair on her tail bristled, and she scowled.

“You do exist, and I know that you know that.” Alisaie insisted. “Just this once…forget about what everybody else thinks of you—who even cares about them anyway? They’re all stupid. And then, tell me: you wanted to come here, yes?”

I wanted to go to the actual Yyasulani. Not this…not this cheap replacement, Q’lhani thought, but didn’t speak up. It shouldn’t look like this. None of this should’ve happened. It’s all my fault, because I’m here, because nothing can ever go well when I’m here. She tried to force herself out of Alisaie’s grasp again, still refusing to say anything. She shouldn’t have wanted to come. She shouldn’t have cared. If she hadn’t cared, then none of this would’ve been an issue.

“Lhani. Please, listen to me.” Alisaie was starting to sound desperate though, and it stung to hear. It was just another way—

She stopped herself. She didn’t…she was only going to make Alisaie feel worse.

“…It shouldn’t be in this state.” Q’lhani spoke up at last, and at that Alisaie let up her grip, allowing Q’lhani to retreat.

“Agreed. So, let’s go on, and give Zoraal Ja a piece of our minds, yes?”

Q’lhani crossed her arms in front of her, not looking Alisaie’s direction. She flicked her tail once in frustration, before it calmed, stiffening. “I’ll kill him.”

“Beat him until he’s within an ilm of life, and then let’s save that honour for Lamaty’i,” Alisaie corrected. Q’lhani didn’t say anything, only closing her eyes as she ducked her head and then began to walk off. Deep down, she always knew Alisaie was right, and yet at times, it only made her feel worse.

I’m just a third-rate friend, too, making her deal with someone like me.

Alisaie’s voice sounded from behind her. “You deserve a break from always being the one to do it. You need it.”

She made no indication of having heard.

Just…leave me be. Don’t involve yourself with me.