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syrcus · 10 days

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FFXIVwrite 2024 Prompt 5: Stamp

Non-WoL OC. Set during Shadowbringers, spoilers for 5.0 story. Either the beginning or middle of the Thancred/Denh ship depending on how hard you squint at it. 1562 words ao3 link

The arrival of the Warrior of Light is rarely a quiet affair. The Rising Stones' main door slams, their voice bounces seemingly without end off the stone walls, amplifying itself. Denh ignores them. After all, she has a job to do, though it may drain and vex her. Whatever business brings Quoye Mhoros to Mor Dhona can remain their own, as far as she's concerned.

She retains her focus with intent, channelling aether from the environment around her, into the pit of her heart, turning it over and allowing it to flow down through her arms and to the hand she holds. Her fingers tingle with the warmth of it, and perhaps a little with inactivity, but over the past weeks this particular aetheric manipulation has become a speciality of hers. How many days has she spent, lately, sitting in this chair immobile, doing naught but preserving the empty husks of the people she loves?

Her gaze glides over her current charge, a knot gathering in her core. Thancred was once one of her closest friends, almost more, and yet. And yet, in recent years she has avoided him, treated him with pointed indifference whenever their paths were forced to cross. She has been cold, she has been immovable, and now that he's gone it shames her.

"Denh!" Even through the thick wooden door of Dawn's Respite, Quoye's distinctive holler is barely muffled. "Anyone seen Denh? Somebody point me at- Oh, is she? Should've known." And with that, the door bursts open, and the Warrior of Light through it. Denh's breath leaves her in a weary sigh. She doesn't look at them, or even otherwise acknowledge them; she keeps her eyes on Thancred, committing his face carefully to memory. Even the most minor change could bode ill for him, in this state. Were his eyes always so sunken? she wonders. Is this a worrying sign, or did I simply fail to notice? Gods, when is the last time I truly looked at him? Nobody had expected this, of course. She could never have been expected to know, all those years she spent angry and hurt, how easily the people she loved could be taken from her. She'd thought she had more time.

Quoye's footsteps echo against the walls, quick and excited, far too upbeat for a room like this. The candle on the dresser by Thancred's cot sputters, flickering in the disturbed air as the Warrior of Light draws to a stop beside her.

"Hi Denh," they chirp, sounding altogether too pleased with themself. Quoye's energy is infuriating at the best of times, even moreso now. She sets Thancred's hand down atop his chest and turns to them.

"What do you want, Quoye." What are her odds, she wonders, of successfully setting them on fire? She'd never let it show, of course, but she's considered the question more and more often of late: Hydaelyn's Blessing may protect them from primal influence, they may have bested some of the world's strongest in combat, but surely a fireball to the face would take down even this vaunted hero? Some hero, anyway. What good have they done for Thancred and Shtola and the twins? Quoye grins impishly back at her and laughs, bright and clear, blissfully unaware of the resentment Denh holds for them. Too bright for a room filled with such stagnant misery.

"I've got something for you," they reply, in quite possibly the most aggravating singsong tone Denh has ever heard, brandishing a sheet of carefully folded paper and wiggling it above her head. "I think you'll like it." She considers snatching it, but Quoye is considerably taller than she is and could easily pull it from arms reach - which, she realises, is likely exactly what they're hoping for. She squares her shoulders and fixes Quoye with a level gaze. She will not embarrass herself for their amusement. They can give her the note or not, it makes little difference.

"Then hand it over and be on your way." She keeps her tone brusque, matter-of-fact, and for added effect extends an open hand. The intent is clear; put it in my hand and get lost. Quoye blinks a couple of times, perhaps surprised she didn't rise to their bait. Her tail flicks with irritation. "Now, Quoye. As you can see, I am busy and I am tired." Hearing herself speak, she sounds tired. More than she'd expected. When is the last time she held a conversation that wasn't just a brief exchange, updating Krile on the vital signs of her closest friends? Quoye visibly deflates, apparently realising, at last, that this is neither the time nor the place for such gleeful behaviour. What thoughts exist in that empty skull? Denh finds herself thinking.

Quoye sighs, looking vaguely ashamed, and places the note on a nearby table. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking, see… Everyone's fine, Denh. I was just talking to 'em all and they're fine, so I didn't…" They speak quickly, rubbing awkwardly at the back of their neck as they do. They look around at the lifeless Scions, their ears a little more lowered than usual. "Anyway. You'll want to read that soonish, I've gotta get back and he didn't say as much but I reckon he was mayhaps hoping for a reply- Not to rush you!" They wince. "Slightly to rush you, 'cause like I say I can't loiter long. I'll be out front. Sorry." And they leave as quickly as they came.

Alone again, or as alone as one can be in a room filled with empty bodies, Denh regrounds herself. She tries to ignore the note on the table, retrains her focus on Thancred; poor Thancred, sickly and grey in the candlelight. She breathes in deep, closes her eyes, drawing the aether back around her ready for use as she has done so many times. It's delicate work, sustaining someone's corporeal form without them inside it, with little margin for error, but in recent weeks it has become as natural to her as breathing. Today, though, when she reopens her eyes, they float unbidden back to that note on the table, and the aether she's so carefully collected fizzles and dissipates. She tries to draw it back, but the unknown hangs in her mind like a bad omen. Quoye hadn't mentioned the sender by name; had she imagined it, or had their gaze lingered on Thancred when they'd said 'he' was hoping for a response? She quickly shakes that thought free. Hope helps nobody, she learned that one young. Hope leads to disappointment, hope lets one down. That settles it. I have to read that hells-damned letter.

"Sorry, Thancred," she says quietly, almost a whisper. "I shan't be away long." She leaves the room in a few determined paces, grabbing the note and stuffing it into her shirt for safekeeping on her way out. She passes Krile in the main foyer, hurriedly asks her to take over aether-sustaining duty for a little while without giving any excuse for her own abandonment of it, and skitters off up the stairs. The dormitory hallway has never felt so long, nor had she ever realised before just how far down it her own room lies. Try as she might to keep it away, by the time she reaches her door a small, irritating hope has settled in her chest. She locks the door behind herself, and only once that's done does she pull the paper from her shirt and really look at it.

It's folded neatly, carefully, though now slightly crumpled. A small drop of wax seals it closed, pressed flat with what looks, from the imprint, to be a one gil coin. She flips it over, and sees her own name handwritten across the front in spindly, vigorous cursive. Her breath catches. That is, without a doubt, Thancred's handwriting. She sinks to the floor, picking free the wax seal absentmindedly. What could possibly be so important for Thancred to write to her from across the void, and send the hero of the realm to deliver it? Perhaps he can offer some insight on his, and the others', condition.

She unfolds the letter.

Denh, Truth be told, I am not wholly sure you will welcome this correspondence. You were, if I recall, not entirely pleased with me when last we spoke. Would you believe me if I were to tell you that it feels like a lifetime ago? In some ways, I suppose it has been. I have had more time to think since my... "collapse" than one may imagine, and it is my - perhaps vain - hope that you might wish to become acquainted with the man I have found myself to be. I am deeply sorry. For all I've had you endure. If you are not averse, I should very much like to hear back! How are things at the Rising Stones? Sincerely, Thancred. p.s. You may wish to employ a wax seal of your own, should you choose to reply. Quoye showed an unnerving degree of interest in the contents of this letter when I asked them to deliver it.

A lone droplet of water lands upon the page as she reads the last line, smudging the ink. Another quickly follows it. She blinks, brings a hand to her eyes, and is almost surprised to find that she's begun to cry.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #fic tag #c: denh #fic: denh #♥ denhcred #the battle i've fought with my internet to get this posted dear god #please forgive all typos and dodgy formatting if present i'll fix it when my internet can stay connected for more than three whole seconds #changing ''day'' out for ''prompt'' bc i am. so behind already lmaoo #it's no longer a daily challenge to me i'm just doing what i can when i can #especially w/ this internet on the fritz like this my god #5.0

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