#it was originally a gift from moro which was lost in the sea of clouds after moro'a rescued emmanellain from the vundu

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 11 - Surrogate

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste & Warrior of Light Rating: Teen & Up Additional Notes: Takes place at during HW patch 3.5. Major spoilers for the Shadow of Mhach alliance raid questline. Ao3 Link

Lady Raimille. The picture painted by Stacia's tale was everything an orphaned child could want from a parent. Everything except that she'd passed on too soon — but not before giving her foster son one last gift.

The noblewoman’s real portrait hung above them, enshrined in Leofard’s quarters. Presiding over his affairs and his family; watching over the man himself. Moro'a knew that paintings like this cost a considerable sum to commission, and that taking care of them required specific knowledge and attention; unexpected obligations for a sky pirate. 

But the painting gleamed, immaculately free of blemishes. “I had wondered as to the origin of his vessel's naming,” Cait Sith said softly, his voice touched with emotion. “‘Tis a most beautiful painting.”

Moro’a’s time in Ishgard had also taught him that portraits like this one were made to memorialise — a likeness captured in brushstrokes, preserved from time. Remember me as I was, in this moment. Remember what this person means to us. Situated where their loved ones could gaze upon them, and never forget.

I doubt I'll ever feel worthy to sit where he sat.

Throughout their adventures, Leofard had pretended as though the portrait wasn’t there, and it was all Moro’a had needed to know not to bring it up. He’d accepted it without judgement, without ever considering otherwise. What was he here for, if not to hide from ghosts and broken hearts; from memory?

But now that Stacia had told them what Leofard would never impart himself, the pieces that made up the leader of the Redbills had finally begun to click: why a man who prized freedom so highly would build his new home a stone's throw from the Holy See, and why the loss of his airship had made Leofard retreat into himself, like a creature seeking familiar refuge. 

It seems she kept him safe until the very end, Utata had said, and Moro’a’s heart had clenched so tight that he thought it might shatter.

It wasn’t any of his business. The voidsent had been stopped, and Cait Sith had found a new home. His time with the Redbills was coming to a close. It’d been an engaging distraction, which was precisely what Moro’a had needed; there were no stones left to overturn, no more accidental revelations to be had. He would go his separate way, into the unknown, and then…

Later, as he was stowing the few essentials he’d brought into the manacutter, Moro’a heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Leofard, who was already dressed in a clean set of clothes and red-tinted goggles. “I almost forgot,” the sky pirate said, as breezy as could be now as he held something out in his hand. A Redbill scarf.

“You didn’t have to,” Moro’a murmured, feeling a strange mixture of reluctance and guilt. 

“And I say otherwise, Warrior. I reckon you’ve done more than you’ll ever need to to have earned this.” His hand stretched closer, and Moro’a considered refusing. He was ready to quit this place, to move on. I’m not who you think I am, he wanted to say. 

Instead he found himself reaching out for the scarf, and tucking it in with the rest of his things.

If, after he'd said his farewells, his hand reached under the collar of his shirt to gently hold the necklace that rested against his chest, to remember, he was the only one who needed to know.