#hi dash youre never going to guess whose muse woke the fuck up after doing arle's story quest

[feliscus]

　/ * WHERE THE HEARTH IS ,

“All you need to be deserving of the throne is conviction, and the necessary strength to act on it.” “…Protecting my family at all costs— that’s my conviction.”

　　　* ignis purgatorius chapter spoilers.

Morning dawns.

Lynette and Freminet slumber, snug on either side of him, but sleep eluded the magician like some grand magic trick, slipping from his grasp every time it seemed to be almost within reach. He’d neither twisted nor turned for fear of waking them, laid flat on his back staring up at the ceiling as the memory of red seared itself behind his eyelids.

In the end, Lyney had not slept at all, arms numb from where they’d stayed curled around his siblings throughout the night.

Gently, not wishing to rouse them, he tugs himself free, slips from beneath the covers to pad silently across hardwood floors. There are bandages set atop a drawer, some food and some salves. But it is upon the triplet bottled flames sitting there that his attention catches, gleaming their molten temptation.

Does Father know how he hums and haws over it now, fingers curling around the vial’s neck? Does she expect this flicker of doubt in her heir, this moment of hesitation, of weakness? Had this, too, been foreplanned by her?

Lyney knows he will never burn as brilliantly as Father. He is not strong enough, not smart enough to be named her heir. If he had been, Clervie would have been gone long before it ever had to come to this. If he had been, Lynette and Freminet would have never been hurt.

No illusion he conjures will ever fool her all-seeing gaze. No spell he casts over an audience will ever capture her attention. His steps do not fit into the path she wishes for him, too, to tread as she once had.

Because to be her successor, to become king… One day…

It would be so easy to let the flames swallow up his memories— and everything that made up ‘Lyney’ alongside it. Flush away the past that ever nips at his heels, the title of the Fatui, the burden of the heir and all its troubles.

But there is nowhere he and Lynette have gone that they have not gone together. He will not ask his sister to follow him to death too or ask Freminet to watch his siblings turn into a husks of themselves that cannot even recall his name. They both wish to stay, and Lyney will not cloud their judgement on the matter with his own doubts.

He pockets the vial and goes noiselessly from the room.

“Um… Lyney?”

A half-step from the door, he halts, twisting to meet Heloir’s gaze with a smile. Lips part to respond as he swallows around the lump in his throat, and only then, as it drags and burns all the way down, does he realize how dry his throat is. “Good morning, Heloir.”

“Oh.” He hears it, the realization in her voice that he is still himself, but she says nothing else, just continues to eye him warily. If she notices the rasp to his voice, there is no other response than to weigh the two potion vials in her hand, then hand him the one filled with clear liquid. A pause. “It’s water.”

Lyney exhales. “…Thank you. Did you need something?”

She shrinks, her voice alongside it. Normally so loud and proud, it’s strange to see her so small. “The bottled flames…did you need help administering them? I—I’m sure I have some medicine or potion to make it hurt less, but—”

But who’s going to watch over them if he leaves? Who will rock the younger kids to sleep or make sure Heloir doesn’t try any of her potions or teach Freminet to improve his sleight of hand? Or put on small magic shows by the hearth, with every trick practiced to perfection and even the ones less so able to call forth their smiles and laughter?

“Lyney? Should I go get something for you?”

Well…someone else will be able to do it. Father can find another heir.

But the yes sticks to the tip of his tongue as he reaches for the vial in his pocket. Because there will likely be a dozen other children like him— as smart, as ambitious, as clever— that Father can pick from, but Lyney will never find another home like this.

For a long time, the only home he had known was Lynette. But the House of the Hearth is his home now too. He doesn’t know much about how a family should really work or what a home should look like, and the thought of leading them is terrifying. Yet the thought of leaving them is infinitely more so.

If Lyney was predisposed to easy solutions, he’d have died long ago.

Anger makes you impulsive. Sorrow causes you to waver. But Lyney was forged by neither, and the flames caught in the orb of his Vision had not been born from rage. His ambition is as it has always been: he will protect his family, no matter what.

Even from Father. Even if it means death.

He clears his throat, producing the vial with a snap of his fingers. “Actually, I was hoping that you would keep this for me. After all, Father entrusted them to you for safekeeping.”

And there is the sparkle in her eyes. The smile. The vial is snatched— too eagerly, perhaps— from his hand. “Oh! Yes, sure!”

Lyney has no desire to be king. He has no ambition for strength other than for the ability it gives him to protect those dear to him. And, most times, he doesn’t know what home or family should mean.

But he never could have left. He wonders if Father had known that from the start. Wonders if this is the answer she had been looking for, if he will ever be able to tell her what family means to him.

Regardless, Lyney will know what she thinks of it soon enough.

Night falls.

As he always has, Lyney opens the door to Hotel Bouffes d’ete at the end of a long day and calls out, “I’m home!”

And the chorus of voices that calls back, “Welcome back!” is the beginning of his answer.