#not even minfilia's mum

[karlachllover]

playing ffxiv for the first time and oh my god. i do not trust the crystal braves. a couple quests in i looked up how old alphinaud is and this kid is SIXTEEN???? sixteen. and he's in charge of an army & carrying out diplomatic missions?? it's so rough to go through something thats such bad vibes without actually being able to change the story i just know this is all gonna blow up i can FEEL IT!!!!

[sayonaramidnight]

Hmmmm maybe Aymeric about Rinoire? Or Minfilia about Helvi?

He was pleased to see that the tales of her skills with pole-arms were not exaggerated - not that he would ever doubt in the words of his old friend or the Champion of Eorzea - and yet he could not help but wonder about her reasons for becoming a dragoon. She was already sworn to her Grand Company in Ul'dah, and much as she had been eager to join the battle at the Steps of Faith, it was plain to see she treated it as... well, a job, rather than a holy duty.

She did not seem to worship any deity in particular, not just the Fury, and refused to talk to any clergymen.

"My relationship with religion is pretty complicated," she admitted, when he asked her about that, "The thing is, my parents were an inquisitor and a heretic, assigned to spy on each other," she spoke in a flat voice and her uncovered eye did not express anything, "I had to watch them fight to death at the tender age of two".

As she finished speaking, she gazed at him in silence. Expectantly.

"You're..." He swallowed the first word that came into his mind. "You're jesting, aren't you?"

"You've noticed. Well done," her smirk seemed mocking, but there was no malice in her voice - he might have even trace a shade of appreciation there, "Actually, I have my reasons not to trust the men and women of the cloth," she winced and gave out a small huff, "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the higher powers who may not even care about my opinion. Just the people who claim to speak on their behalf. I was raised in Gridania, after all".

He nodded thoughtfully. Little did Ishgardians know of Gridanian religious affairs, it would do no harm to look closer at them at a later time. Right now, he had an opportunity to test her, just like she was testing him. "Still, you agreed to help Ishgard against the dragons. Does it mean you trust us, Lieutenant Noirterel?"

"After I learnt you rely on a bloody ancient dragon to gaze at your knights and pick his own slayer? Not in the slightest".

To his own surprise, he gave a small chuckle. "Pray, do not... Wait, which of your parent was an inquisitor?"

"Let me think... My mum".

"Pray, do not say those things in front of your mother's brethren".

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

I meant it when I told her she was my pillar of strength. Then why did she look pained?

True, I know she does not enjoy going into the fray - but still, she does not hesitate, when that is what it takes. That is, however, not the reason why I told her that - why I allowed myself being weak with her, which I hardly ever do, even with Thancred. Perhaps especially with him.

She is my pillar of strength not because she slays Primals, but because she she works towards alliance with the beast tribes - even though she insists she's "simply helping a little" - which has long been a dream of mine. Because Lhaminn has some fond memories of her. And because I can watch her work and chat about gemstones whenever we have time.

We may be Hydaelyn's chosen, but we must remember to be people beside being heroes. That is what she reminds me to be when she is around - which does not happen often enough and I am the only one to blame for it.

I hope she keeps doing the same for the others, when our Mother calls for me.

NPC PoV asks!

[autumnslance]

send LOST for a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figuratively {Zaine}

He was supposed to protect her.

Zaine's axe and armor, Evienne's spells and social acumen. They were a matched set of opposites, a team that had traversed the realm for months now. That's how it worked.

On reflection, he really hadn't known her that long; less than a year. Yet everything they had gone through made it feel much longer, or at least more intense. They had shared their histories, their hopes, more than a few secrets.

Never a bed, though; as much as he'd come to love her, it was not in that way. And she was still mourning the loss of her spouse, besides. So fierce friends and comrades they were.

...They had been.

Zaine was going to tear Gaius van Baelsar into pieces.

"Hey," Yda said, wandering over to sit with him.

"Hey," he replied, taking a deep breath and sitting up. "You doing all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. How--"

"How about Papalymo? And Thancred?"

She frowned. "They're all right, Zaine. Everyone is."

Not everyone.

Before he could say more, she stuck her finger against his lips. "How are you?" she demanded to know, glimpses of her blue eyes through the mask showing her own sadness and resolve. She removed her finger.

Zaine slumped. "I keep feeling like I did everything wrong. Missed something, forgot something. If I'd been a little more on guard--and I know, I know that's not how it works, I know you all rushed cuz you only found out too late, but I--" He rested his head in his hands, clutching his hair.

"I feel like 'it's not your fault' won't help, huh?"

He huffed out a bitter laugh. "No." They were silent for a moment. "I know he targeted her as a caster, as a threat. Even if I had been in her place, even if I had been on guard. And I know...Evienne chose this, same as the rest of us, but it...Gods, this hurts."

"Of course it does," Yda replied softly. "It will for a long while."

He sat back now, leaning on the wall behind him, Yda watching. "If I knew anything of Eorzean etiquette as a boy, I forgot it. Evienne, though...she had impeccable manners. And took it upon herself to teach me better. My rough soldier ways grated on her lady's sensibilities." He smiled thinly. "I don't think I'd have made half as good an impression on all those people without her. And nevermind how many of her own heroics have been overlooked. It's not fair."

"A lot of things aren't," Yda said. "Minfilia's speaking to her sister, and her son. He's so little."

"Yeah," Zaine said. "Not much older than my sister was, when we lost our father. This kid's lost both his parents now and I don't...I feel like I should say something, but what? 'I was your mum's partner but failed to protect her from a Garlean bullet'?"

"Zaine, you can't say that."

"No, of course not, I just," he pinched his nose, trying to stay the renewed feeling of prickling heat in his eyes, threatening another deluge. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. She would know; that's what she was good at! It's all her clever words and maneuvering that's made me seem a hero; people think I know what I'm doing, but I don't. And there's still so much happening, no time to sit here and wallow, but Sisters help me, I don't know how I'm going to do it without her!"

The tears fell despite his attempts; guilt and shame as much as grief pouring from him. Yda was silent, simply holding his hand, squeezing tightly, a reminder he had more friends and allies, more people to help, to rely on.

Just not his companion.

--

((As the 1.0 WoL, Zaine traveled around with a Path Companion, who I decided was a prim & proper elezen conjurer named Evienne. There is, however, a famous scene where Gaius shoots the Path Companion, and then fights Thancred, Y'shtola, Papalymo, and Yda. In Zaine's continuity, his Path Companion dies from the injuries inflicted in that incident.))

[letoiusprime]

"Let her go."

This has two meanings. Vira held a lot of shame and regret over 'abandoning' her abusive mother (even if dear old mum was the one left), that would often hold her back. The other is Minfilia. After the Banquet, Minfilia had to force Vira to go with the Warriors of Light by ordering that she look after them. Its an order she internalized in her grief through Heavensward, that led to her forgoing her own health, safety, and mental wellbeing. She didn't manage to break free from this standing order until the end of Stormblood, where she then had a year of time alone with Alphinaud to process her messed up psyche and get her head on straight.

11/9/24

If your wol(oc) could tell their past self one thing what would it be?

[lone-flower]

#FFXIVWrite2021 entry - prompt: “Debonair” ➤ 1640~ word count ➤ emet/wol established relationship, mid 5.0 spoilers/era

debonair /ˌdɛbəˈnɛː/ adjective • confident, stylish, and charming

        It was the nightless eve prior to the Mt. Gulg operation, all their efforts converging into an allyship spanning Norvrandt, and the completion of the oversized Talos. All that remained was the task of imbuing the automaton with magic — with life — upon daybreak, and the campaign would begin.

        In spite of the recent Sineater peril and subsequent overthrow of power within Eulmore, the pampered citizens oh so fond of their galas and get-togethers had all but demanded a fête be held in honour of their saviors and those who were lost, along with seeking to dispel tensions preceding tomorrow’s battle. All were invited, from the most opulent maiden to the most unscrupulous street urchin, with the slight ulterior motive of better integrating the new-found societal structure of Eulmore; no better way to relate to another than by brushing shoulders, after all. Food was promptly prepared (no meol in sight) and the festivities began in earnest as one and all flocked to the main hall.

        The plaza was positively abuzz once Abarbluom had made his way from the powder room, the more spirited attendants transforming the court into a large ballroom while others opted to remain seated and eat. An impromptu musical band had formed near the storefronts, its members composed of men and women in various tiers of dress, a heartfelt tune teased from their instruments. Children weaved between the crowds while playfully chasing each other, almost certainly looking to eat more than twice their fill with sweets alone.

        He looked over the crowds for a familiar face, linking eyes over bobbing heads and feathered hats with Thancred, who heartily waved back. Both Minfilia and the twins sat at his side, who rose a glass of water in his direction, rousing a smile to Abarbluom’s lips; he dared not envy Thancred’s evening charge as babysitter. He continued to scan about the hall and caught a glimpse of the Exarch himself, rushing out the corridor leading to the Beehive, cane in hand as he pulled his hood over his face in shame. Smoothing down his robes and composing himself, he strode into the main hall and took station beside Urianger, muttering something to him before he replied.

        “The chaste Exarch, at the Beehive?” Y’shtola’s voice. “What will the people say?”

        She had come to Abarbluom’s side without his knowing and gave him a friendly touch on the back, smiling up at him.

        “We mustn’t tease him,” he responded, laced with sarcasm. “The poor man just had the shock of his life.”

        “All in good spirits. An exposed thigh may temper the lad.”

        The two shared a chuckle as they observed the crowds, now sharing a silence. Music and laughter mingled into a single sound that reverberated about the chamber, bringing a tap to Abarbluom’s foot.

        “It’s blinding, you know,” Y’shtola spoke, almost to herself. “That Aether of yours.”

        Abarbluom swallowed. “I almost want to apologise, but I understand that would be quite foolish of me.”

        She turned to him, concern touching her face. “You will tell us when it’s too much, won’t you?”

        “You have my word.” Reassuringly, having absolutely no intention of doing so, betraying the thrumming, encroaching pain at his core. “Care to dance?” he dodged.

        She sighed, gesturing down. “I believe you already have a partner.”

        He was jostled by a small hand tugging at his petticoat then, only to be met with the large pleading eyes of a young Mystal girl of no more than ten Summers, sporting a gown covered in mismatched patches.

        “What a wonderful dress!” he remarked, kneeling to her height, confrontation with Y’shtola sufficiently avoided for now.

        The girl beamed, emboldened. “My mum made it for me, she did, the other kids laugh at me for it but... she said I could wear it today because she says the night time will come again soon!”

        She spoke in that excitable ramble-on way children were known to, performing a wobbly curtsey for Abarbluom who applauded in reply.

        “Well, we’ll show them then, won’t we?” He offered his hand and she took a finger in hers. To Y’shtola, “Duty calls.”

        The girl led him by hand amongst the twirling dancers, their faces a blur in motion. She was at most a third of his full height, but he tried his best to take her hands in his as she stood on his boots, her dress fluttering as they turned about. They fell into a very simple box waltz, the girl giggling and smiling all the while as he spun her round, pausing only to stick her tongue out at the boys who assumedly teased her.

        With a rousing flurry the song ended, and the two parted to bow before honouring the band with a round of applause with the others. It was in the moment or two of silence before the band resumed that Abarbluom had bid farewell to the girl, sending her off with a raise of his hand —

        crack

        — vision clouded with pain, pleasant music transformed into discordant tones, the Mystel confused and anxious, inner voice screaming to get away from the crowds before he, before he —

        Barely composing himself, Abarbluom gave her a gentle pat on the head before excusing himself to the fresh air of the balcony surrounding the plaza, scarcely aware of his own actions; he met with Y’shtola’s eyes wide across the hall, giving a weak smile.

        Rounding the corner which led to the outer terrace, he exploded into a violent coughing fit, haggard breaths racking at his chest. A passing group of Eulmorans looked and laughed, thinking him yet another overindulgent party-goer, leaving to give him privacy. Shining white spattered about the top of his hand as Abarbluom fought to compose himself, fought back against the light inside him.

        His vision clearing and breathlessness passing, he stared down at the slick of fluid as it glimmered, luminous even in the shade, as exhausted tears began to prick at his eyes. Shifting his weight to lean against the wall, he slowly drew a handkerchief from his inner pocket, listlessly cleaning his hands before taking it to his lips. The beams of light bared down on him harshly, assailed with its majesty inside and out.

        “Are you alright?” A chair grated across the floor.

        Abarbluom heard them approach, his vision bleary through tears, now desperate to recover and control himself in the presence of another. He combed fingers through his hair and wiped at his face before the stranger firmly took his wrist in a gloved hand.

        “I’m sorry, it’s nothing —”

        “Enough, quit it.” Commanding. “Calm down.”

        He righted his spectacles suitably to see, finding Emet-Selch looking up at him with a furrowed brow; not in anger, but in genuine sympathy. Abarbluom sighed, arching down to take him into an embrace as Emet kept his hands at the Roegadyn’s waist. They parted, Emet taking a hand to Abarbluom’s cheek as he leaned into the touch, giving a single soothing rub.

        “Come.”

        Much like the Mystal earlier, he was led by hand to where Emet had been, promptly being seated himself as Emet kneeled by his side, their fingers linked together. The shaded terrace had been prepared with a handful of tables, each with a pair of chairs. It was common to enjoy lunch or breakfast out here, with the evening air often chasing patrons inside. Abarbluom shakily took a glass of water at the table to his lips before slumping in a sigh.

        “I don’t think I can do it,” he choked, gazing out at the cliffed expanse of Kholusia and the radiant halo of Mt. Gulg. “Not again.”

        There was a twinkle in Emet’s eye then, scarcely noticeable as he rose to his feet. “It’s too much, is it not?” He took the seated Abarbluom in his arms, pressing his head to his chest. “They ask far too much.”

        “It has to be me,” Abarbluom mumured against the cloth of Emet’s sleeve, eyes fluttering closed. “I can’t fail them - my duty. I already owe so much.”

        Emet paused his gentle ministrations at the words, a pang echoing about his core as he inwardly cringed. “Has the coughing passed?” he detracted, no longer interested in chasing his avenue of interest - for now. It could wait.

        “I feel… a lot better.” Abarbluom replaced the glass on the table, giving him a tiny smile. “This isn’t the first time, I just - I will never get used to it.”

        “Not much longer,” Emet cooed with a peck to Abarbluom’s brow. “A true hero worth his salt must be strong.”

        “And you would know?”

        Emet pulled a soured expression. “Would you dance with me?”

        Abarbluom blinked at the query, the jubilant music from within the plaza finally audible to him once again. “I would like that a lot.”

        He left his seat and pulled Emet into an intimate embrace (a sharp intake of breath), the two slipping into a slow dance. With his palm snugly at the ancient’s slim waist - a single hand almost wrapping entirely around - he dipped his head low, meeting the crown of Emet’s head. They stepped in rhythm to the muffled notes, Emet’s robes unfurling, Abarbluom tenderly dipping him low.

        The song reached its crescendo, and they sealed it with a kiss.

        “How debonair of you,” Emet chided, flustered despite himself. “I’m not some Spring maiden to be swept off her feet.”

        “And I would’ve obliged you much sooner had you approached me,” Abarbluom countered, releasing Emet from his hold and watching him trail away. “Instead of gloomily sulking out here.”

        He turned back to give a sly smile. “You forget, dear hero, how else would I get to be with you alone?”

        Abarbluom would remain absent from the rest of the festivities, inviting all sorts of displeasure from the Scions following his reappearance the following morning, ready for duty.

[conjury]

❥   @starsunderer​   ---   𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥  . ↳    𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎  .

𝐢𝐬  𝐢𝐭  𝐭𝐨𝐨  𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜  𝐭𝐨  𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞  𝐟𝐨𝐫  𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩  ,   minfilia  wonders  .   she  was  not  a  child  ,   holding  tight  to  her  mum’s  hand  when  her  blessing  made  itself  known  .   she  was  all  but  a  woman  ,   full - grown  and  full - well  ready  to  accept  that  there  were  things  in  the  world  that  she  could  not  do  .

“    do  you  keep  secrets  from  me  ,   mother  ?    ”    she  asks  ,   mostly  out  of  curiosity  and  because  her  room  is  far  too  quiet  .   in  truth  ,   minfilia  expects  no  answer  .   but  ,   she  decides  ,   it  is  not  too  optimistic  to  try  .    “    it  is  all  right  if  you  do  .   there  are  some  things  even  i  may  not  be  trusted  to  understand  .    ”

[minarcana]

Or something. Laurel frowns to herself— well, her gripes with the Exarch's specific eccentricities aside, he's a little annoying in an ultimately completely petty way. "The way people talk about him, he's even older than me. Which is no small feat for anyone that isn't Viera. Er, Viis, I guess." And is it so weird for her to not entirely trust some guy everyone talks about being super old, when nobody without bunny ears is supposed to live more than two centuries without being weird about it? C'mon.

"Nooooo." Another poke, Laurel grinning. "I only wanna keep you out of danger you don't believe in. So long as you want to, I'm not gonna keep you out of a fight. I'll just be keeping you out of getting hurt too bad, since that's my job." And if Thancred has argument with that, well! Maybe he should trust his friends more! Who knew he'd be the mother hen... wait, actually, that completely tracks once Laurel thinks about it.

Laurel perks up immediately at the question, ears twitching in clear enthusiasm. Her eyes are bright. "Oho! Where I grew up, huh? We~ell, I grew up as the big sister for what ended up as a children's shelter. Started off just me and my mum, but now I'm the eldest of eleven. Or, well, might be more nowadays, since I've been adventuring for a while and haven't had the chance to contact them. It's a teeny-tiny little town on the side of a mountain in Viera territory. Kinda boring sometimes. Everybody knew each other and I was the reliable errand girl, 'cause somebody's gotta help mum out. Oh!" She turns and digs around in the small satchet at her belt. "There's... ah-hah! My babiest brother made me this, hehe. Rock's from our mountain, so I've got home with me wherever I go." She holds out a grey charm for Minfilia to see. It's... not well-carved, it's more of a lumpy depiction of what one assumes has to be either a viera's or a rabbit's head with a distinct smile carved onto it. Either way, Laurel's clearly pleased as punch about it.

"I know Than's probably been a paranoid jerk dragging you around, but do you have any good memories of somewhere fun? Norvandt might be little, but it certainly is interesting."

' i'm pretty sure he's old or something. ' minfilia speaks with the tone of someone much wiser than herself -- perhaps she's trying to mimic her bookworm friend. ' it must have taken a great deal of time, research and knowledge to bring you all here. i'd think he could send a nice invitation. draw some flowers on it. ' like she does with her poetry journal, but laurel verily seems like someone she ought to keep that secret from.

minfilia's more than happy following her around, though. the poke takes her off guard, momentarily appearing offended. ' we've just met and you're trying to keep me out of danger ? that's not happening. ' a cheeky smile, even if she checks to make sure thancred isn't secretly listening in. ' i really do want to help. i believe i can. of course, i'm not as strong as you are ... but i want to fight ! '

she sighs after letting that out. whether her reasons are jumbled or not, minfilia knows she can be more than a prisoner in this world. she tilts her head, eyes akin to pools of glacier water. ' what was it like where you grew up ? did you like it ? '