#she appreciates you here as more than just that Adventurer the Scions picked up

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2023 20.Hamper

Characters: Krile Baldesion, G'raha Tia Expansion: Endwalker (No Spoilers) Rating: Teen Notes: I tried not to write about the lucky shorts. Moen Moen shook them out of me. I'm sorry friends.

Krile was taken aback upon entry to G'raha and Keith's apartment. Her dear friend had requested her assistance with some light housekeeping, near desperate in fact. With their daughter essentially arriving out of the aether, her assumption had been that the Miqo'te was struggling to keep up with the mess young ones tended to make. She was surprised to find this was not the source of his domestic woes.

No, G'khenna's things were nearly neatly arranged in a corner. Her desk was organized so all her school books were alphabetized, bookends with a photo of her and her family on one side with a captured moment of leave between her and Khloe on the other. At the side a small crystal magic rod, an umbrella, and a foil with a focus hung off it were latched into custom notches of the desk's top. From pencils to aetheric charts, all the little girl's things had a proper place and were put so. 

No, what ailed the other Archon was not that of his young girl, but of his adult Hyur husband. On the floor in their bedroom, G'raha sat surrounded by the carelessly discarded things of his husband while Krile looked on from the door.

"Scholar save me. How can any one person be this messy? I did not realize how careless he is with his belongings," the Miqo'te groaned, pushing Keith's dumbbells under the end of their bed where he'd taken to storing his other athletic gear.

"Love has a way of blinding us to our partners' habits, Raha. Perhaps a little light scolding is due," Krile said, lightly bending to pick up a few discarded shirts, "Though, how have you let it get this bad?"

G'raha closed his eyes and tilted his head back, ears folding as he swallowed.

"We divided up our chores. His talents lay in the kitchen so I was relegated to the other odds and ends around the apartment. Laundry was among them I suppose."

"So this is more or less a mess of your own making?"

"I've been busy with adventuring and my studies. I know I said I'd pick up around the place but at the very least he could make use of the proper receptacles when he disrobes."

Krile let out a little laugh as the Miqo'te pouted and tossed a pair of Keith's boxer briefs into a basket. Together the friends continued to sort through the clothing on the floor then through a bag of Keith's adventuring gear.

"I would think you'd have a little more joy out of this, Raha. Your things mingled among an adventurer's and rightfully one yourself now. This is probably the more insight than most would ever get to what it's like for a hero behind closed doors."

"I suppose this is reminiscent of two thirds of the Warrior of Lights' dwellings. Krile, that is indeed a good way of looking at this. I have offered my companionship for adventuring and this is just some of the labor that goes into it. I can appreciate the stain on his leathers from him tumbling into grass or a scratch upon his leathers from close combat. The smell of his shirt soaked with the scent of his trrravels and himself," the Miqo'te started, purring as he nuzzled his face into the chest of an undershirt.

"Let's not get carried away now. Here, we have plenty of loads for the wash," Krile said, rolling her eyes ever so slightly as G'raha blushed and tossed the shirt away.

Gathering a basket, she hummed then caught a glimpse of golden fabric sticking out from under their bed. 

"It seems we've missed one," the Scion called out, moving to whip a pair of bomball shorts out from the hiding place.

"Seven hells," the woman breathed out, quickly tossing the garment to the bed before covering her nose, "Those have seen far too much adventure for me to be handling.'

G'raha quickly dived to the bed, catching the discarded shorts, flushing deeply as he stuffed them back under his bed. He sat up, ears pinning back as he avoided Krile’s suspicious gaze. 

“What on Ethyris has gotten into you,” Krile finally asked.

“Nothing. Just leave those be. They’re Keith’s lucky shorts.”

“They’re foul.”

“Imbued with good luck, or so he says. You know how superstitious athletic types arrrre. He is no exception. It is purrre psychology. He believes he performs betterrr, and so he manifests it. A simple trick of the mind, though it is all confirmation bias. I am certain in time that he will see the light, after some exposure to sound slowly administered logic, that his musky shorts have no bearrring on luck and are not as appealing as he has been led to believe.”

Krile covered her mouth, “Appealing? Raha, I do not want to be privy to such debauchery.”

“I assure you, there is no debauchery to be had! It is the general physique and perhemones that-”

“No, say no more! Please Raha. No explanation will be sufficient enough for you to continue. I can hardly say I shall forget that awful stench,” Krile laughed, picking up a basket before hurying from the room.

“Krile! Please! I did not articulate myself sufficiently! Krile!” the Miqo’te called out, face as red as his hair. 

Whimpering, he slumped down to the floor, hands in his face before peaking at the shorts. He closed his eyes, bringing them up to hug for a moment, and in his own bit of superstition asked the Scholar to return his love home safely. Hearing Krile call again, he hopped up then picked up his baskets, face remaining red as he went to get on with his chores.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Really here for Miss Bounding Frog, but I wanted to thank you for becoming a Wyll BG3 appreciation blog. Because while I've no interest in playing the game myself, he's just so charming and lovely and always a joy to have on my dash

You: is today the day I blacklist the bg3 tag? Wyll: *smiles with his whole heart out of a gifset* You: .... naaah he can stay, he seems polite.

You made me realise he and Frog are fairly alike in that I try to go for girlprince in her glams a lot of the time and he's just pure disney prince (but a devil).

(spoilers for BG3 musing on their similarities)

Also I guess their personalities are pretty similar in that they remain genuinely well-meaning heroes after going through it all. Like, the vacation before Dawntrail has been fun but Frog would still absolutely throw herself back into the fire when the self-sacrificing bullshit returns. She slept Endwalker off in a week and then was confused about why the scions were treating her with kid gloves. "Look, I'm upright again! What next??" "Have you tried this adventure called 'retiring to the beach'?"

I know a looot of people have rightfully tired or grumpy WoLs who are completely done with being asked to do things and people Assuming you will be the hero, or being in the crosshairs of the universe, but I did want to write a WoL who was genuinely hype to be here and would take it on the chin with old school heroic stoicism. However gutting everything is she's like, well, we hear-feel-think this trauma and on the other side we understand and respect what it did to us and move on stronger. And then forgive everyone who caused it. (she's very annoying)

Mr Of Frontiers over there had his tragic backstory at 17, a year younger than when Frog started adventuring (intentionally with no tragic backstory, I wanted her to be in it for love of the game) and I'm hypocritically declaring she was more than old enough because I say so and Wyll was a KID just a LITTLE GUY... but also Alphinaud doesn't exist in BG3 thankfully so there's no need to debate when kids should be allowed to be in charge of armies - although I think Alphinaud and Wyll should have a catch up and maybe learn some things about how they were doomed by the narrative together...

Anyway Wyll's various endings aside from the one where you set him up to be a Duke in the city (which I did on my Astarion play since Astarion is marrying him, craves creature comforts, and was presented with not even a persuasion check to decide Wyll's entire future, which is shockingly cruel of the game) he will just go back to adventuring and saving people. Like, a guy who can legitimately retire off the back of everything that just happened and return forgiven or at least as a hero if you did get his dad murdered to not be around to forgive him, and he's like... Actually, the People Need Me, I'm going to go write the next chapter of my life as an itinerant hero killing monsters and swashbuckling all day.

Also, aside from him definitely having whatever's wrong in his brain that Frog has (and Meteor Finalfantasy who is ready to Dawntrail also and is swashbuckling), he does also have the WoLbrain when it comes to Just Saying Messed Up Things. He's so funny and sarcastic and would absolutely fit in with WoLs who pick all the weird dialogue options. WoL can make moogle noises at Thancred? Well, Wyll over here will meow at you.

He also genuinely thinks clowns are funny, and every year the WoL earnestly goes along with a demon clown halloween event so there's that.

[soulshards-ooc]

The part in which Y'shtola thanks you for your patience because she absolutely has none.

Ro'zari is a helpful guy, if this is what would make the others feel comfortable then so be it - he's just a little annoyed at the subterfuge involved. However all that annoyance is washed away when Y'sthola looks at you like this. I think his first crush is brewing.

Also we get our first nickname. Titan's Bane. How creative.

[farplane]

DAY 5: [EXTRA CREDIT]

There was no hero’s welcome as they passed through the White Aisle’s gates; only a greeting from the younger gate guard to Arenvald, and a wary look from the older at Fordola. The former was easily returned, and the latter easily ignored—both commonplace enough for any old homecoming.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” said Arenvald as they walked, taking their usual path to the palace.

“We haven’t got all night,” Fordola replied. “I have to be back in the barracks by sundown.”

“Very funny. No, but, like—if he’s an insect, yeah, what’s with the whole… battle-worship eternal war philosophy? Aren’t insects all about collaboration?”

“They’re the beastmen’s gods. They’re not supposed to make sense.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Arenvald said, clearly unsatisfied with the response. “Suppose if I had four arms myself I’d make the most of it with… four arms to match.” He nudged Fordola’s elbow. “Arms. Swords. Get it?”

Fordola made a sound of disgust and picked up her pace to distance himself from him.

“Come on!” Arenvald called after her. “That was a good one!”

As he jogged to catch up, Fordola stopped dead just short of turning a corner, and pressed her back to the nearest wall. She’d gone ash-pale, a choked gasp caught in her throat, and Arenvald could see her chest heaving with suppressed breath.

“Are you all right? What’s going on?”

Fordola just shook her head. Arenvald reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, then decided against it; he knew her enough, by now, to be sure she would just shrug him off. So he took just one step past her and peered around the corner, heedless of Fordola hissing his name—and saw the cause of her shock.

It wasn’t right, that he should recognize Fordola’s mother from her memories, but it was the way of things. And maybe it was right enough because they were equals in it; likely she had seen his mother in his memories, too—more than once, knowing the strength of her Echo and the ragged hole his mother had left inside him.

“What’s her name?”

Fordola bit hard on the inside of her cheek. “As—Astrid.”

That knocked something loose inside Arenvald, if only for an instant. It was his mother’s name, too. But he swallowed hard, and pulled his focus back to Fordola. 

“Do you want me to stop her while you catch your breath?” he asked quietly. “So you can say hello?”

Again, Fordola shook her head—this time, almost frantically. “I can’t,” she said, so vulnerable it ached. “I can’t, I can’t let her see what I’ve—”

—become, something in Arenvald’s mind whispered when she couldn’t finish. Not the Echo, but something. He could only look between Fordola and her mother’s retreating back, fearing he might lose her in the crowd.

“But all the things she must’ve heard…” he said. “Doesn’t she deserve to know you’re all right?”

“I can’t,” Fordola snapped, her voice hard with grief.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” Arenvald said, and decidedly turned the corner. Maybe Fordola hissed his name; maybe she said don’t; maybe she said please.

He hurried down the street, dipping a hand into his pocket for a coin. It was an old trick, one he’d used for drastically different purposes, but it would work for this, too.

“Excuse me, Astrid,” he called, and crouched down as though to pick up the coin already in his hand as Astrid turned. She looked tired and not a little wretched, carrying a basket on her hip as though it weighed a tonze. Arenvald held out the coin in his palm. “You dropped this.”

The hard wariness around her eyes reminded him of Fordola, in a way, but maybe even sadder. “Thank you,” she said, carefully taking the coin; her eyes never left Arenvald’s face. “Do I know you?”

“Er, no. I’m sorry,” Arenvald said. He pointed to himself. “My name is Arenvald. I’m an adventurer, with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” and Twelve, that always felt so reassuring to say. “I’ve been working with the Resistance. With your daughter.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Astrid said immediately, and made to walk away. She hid her flinch well when he touched her arm.

“Wait, no, it’s—I don’t mean any ill by it.” He held both hands up. And he wished he’d thought it through, worked out what he was going to say beforehand instead of just opening his big mouth and babbling. “I just wanted you to know she’s doing well. I’ve been… I haven’t been assigned to do it, really, but I’ve been looking after her, sort of. We’re of an age, you see, and we’re— alike.”

Astrid said nothing; she just let him talk. But something settled on her face as emotion overtook her glare: something Arenvald didn’t know how to name. It wasn’t relief, really, or acceptance. Nor even appreciation of what it was saying. But it was something, and it almost made him waver.

“She did bad things, but so have I. Hurt people. But everything I’ve been doing for—for years, it’s always been just to be better. And I think she feels the same. It won’t erase what she’s done, but I think she deserves to try, if there’s goodness ahead of her. Don’t you think?”

“What do you want me to say?” Astrid asked tremulously.

“I— I don’t know.”

Arenvald’s lips parted without sound. 

Astrid hoisted the basket higher on her hip, her other fist clenched tight around Arenvald’s coin. “Then I can say nothing to you,” she said. And for a moment, all he could do was just watch her leave.

“She’s saved countless lives, you know,” Arenvald said to her back, not wanting to raise his voice too loud. The stones in Ala Mhigo always heard too much. “Just in the past few moons. The imperials did something unspeakable to her and she’s been using it to save people. One of them was a father, and that’s one that I know of— all because she knew that somewhere, there was a little girl who needed him.”

He swallowed hard again, unsure of why his throat was so tight. “I don’t care who she was; only that that’s who she is now. And so should you.”

Astrid had slowed her steps to listen, at least; Arenvald saw a tremor in her shoulders, running down the line of her back, but it was gone in an instant as she straightened and went on her way. Still pressed to the wall, Fordola was listening, too: a hand clamped over her mouth, the other a shaking fist, as tears streamed incessantly down her cheeks.

She was wiping at her eyes with the heel of her gloved hand as Arenvald returned, feeling battered and drained in ways that had little to do with their earlier confrontation with a primal. But he had meant everything he said, and he hoped Fordola knew that. Not that there was much he could do to lie to her from the inside.

And neither could she lie to him; not with her face a blotchy red around the nose and eyes, and her cheeks still pale. Arenvald wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms and force her to let herself be a person, but she would just push at him and maybe even bite.

“It’s all right,” he said gently, without touching her. Fordola’s mouth was pinched tight, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye—and even though he’d just stopped himself from reaching out, all the reasons why he shouldn’t seemed pointless and stupid.

So he pulled Fordola into a hug, right there in the middle of the bloody street.

“Don’t,” Fordola said, muffled by his chest. She didn’t shove at him; she just stood there, her body ice against his, and all at once she was clinging to the back of his shirt and gritting her teeth so hard he felt the muscles of her jaw harden against his shoulder.

There was nothing he could say to her, really. He didn’t know if his own mother was alive: he hadn’t dared to ask around, because he didn’t know what he would do with the answer. But if she was still somewhere, he did hope she could make some peace with the suffering she’d endured at the hands of the Empire now that they were free to rebuild their lives.

It didn’t mean he knew whether he would want to stand in front of her again, or be brave enough for it after all the fear he’d felt, at the end.

Maybe one day Fordola could return the favour—tell his mum that he was doing all right, too. And maybe she’d even hug him when he was a mess, after.

[autumnslance]

MiqoMarch 23: Love

(This is not the usual happy-go-lucky PunchyCat story. Sorry not sorry. Discussion of mental health/disability below. Also on Ao3 in “Slices of Light.”)

Hamon watched the girl next to him chew her bottom lip and shift her weight on her feet like she was getting ready for a round in the ring, not about to walk into her childhood home. It was overall uncharacteristic for her, but he fully understood why. Before he could say anything, C’oretta spoke up.

“Are we really sure this is the right thing to do I mean she already gets so confused.”

“That confusion is part of the trouble,” Hamon reminded her. “She near set fire to the place.”

C’oretta sagged. Her cloudy demeanor didn’t fit the cherry highlights in her gold hair, or the blindingly bright pink dress she wore. Her usual smile was missing from her sweet face. If he looked, he could pick out exactly which traits she’d inherited from each parent, his friends almost since they had been her age now. It only made her conflicted expression harder for him to see.

She squared her shoulders and skipped up the steps to enter the house, Hamon following at a more reasonable pace.

The sitting room was low lit, some furnishings and items on one side tossed about as if someone had been in a frenzied search. C’leiha sat at a small table, primly sipping her tea. She wore one of her old dancer outfits with shaky cosmetics on her face and her grey-streaked auburn hair loosely styled, a favorite pin--one of Khell’s first gifts to her--threaded into a sidebraid.

The young midlander nurse wrung her hands. “I’m sorry, Miss C’oretta, I haven’t been able to clean since her...episode earlier. But we had a nice time dressing up this afternoon, didn’t we, Miss C’leiha?”

“It’s all right I know it’s a lot hello Mama how are you doing today?” C’oretta knelt by her mother’s chair.

C’leiha’s distant look focused, then brightened, and she touched her daughter's hair. “Oretta! Did you leave school early again, kitten? You can wait for Papa with me, but no sweet ice for you!”

“Just go along with it,” the nurse urged quietly. “Trying to make her remember aught else will only cause distress.”

Which was what had happened earlier. Some well-meaning fool of an old friend had become frustrated and tried to remind C’leiha that her beloved husband was dead for years now.

When the Calamity had happened, C’leiha and C’oretta had watched Khell fall in the rioting crowds, trampled by terrified and angry mobs. Something in the older woman’s mind had snapped during those tumultuous events and she had never recovered, her despair turning to full on delusion. Something about the Calamity and the aetheric shifts it had caused across the realm had prematurely brought on a condition she would have been susceptible to in her old age, according to the chirugeons and conjurers examining her over the years since. They had no other explanations, aside from her grief and the trauma of that day.

Whatever it was, Hamon thought it wasn’t fair to see in a woman decades his junior who ought to still be enjoying her life. But Khell had been her everything, and without him C’leiha was lost.

He kept an ear to where C’oretta made non-committal responses to her mother’s jabbering as he spoke to the nurse. “We’ve made arrangements to get her in Saint Popoli’s. If you like, they’ve agreed to let you keep working with her, since you’re familiar. At least until you find something else, while their staff learns her quirks.”

The nurse nodded. “Thank you, Master Hamon; I’d hate to just leave her. As long as Miss C’oretta’s fine with everything.”

“She ain’t, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s about what’s best for C’leiha.” He looked at the pair of miqo’te. C’oretta was convincing her mother in a careful, roundabout way to go on a walk with her--a walk that would end at the hospital they would leave the woman in. “I’m having some of the boys come by to help pack up her things for her room there; the fella in charge says for her condition that’ll help keep her calm and from trying to find her way out.” He chuckled. “My back won’t let me help with none of the heavy lifting!”

The nurse smiled in response. “I understand, and I do think that’d be best.”

He briefly thought of suggesting the young lady could nurse him later, but this wasn’t the time or place. Perhaps once they had C’leiha settled.

“All right I think we’re ready,” C’oretta said. She was standing next to her mother, arms and hands linked. C’leiha was just an ilm or two taller, but seemed smaller and thinner than Hamon remembered; his recollection of C’leiha in her dancing days was a lusciously curvy woman who seemed to fill a room with her sparkling laughter and quick speech, her bright garments teasing the eyes with what they hid and revealed.

This dolled up shadow clinging to her daughter’s arm made his old heart ache.

C’leiha looked up, noticing him for the first time. “Master Hamon! How lovely to see you, are you coming with us to meet Khell too?”

His smile felt tight. “Aye, lass, we’ll all go together. You know I’m always happy to spend time in the presence of such lovely ladies, hehe!”

“Oh Hamon, you’re always such a flirt,” C’leiha teased. She kept up the conversation as they left the house and made their way through the streets. Nevermind her talk about a show she was performing in was well over a decade out of date. They listened and nodded and responded politely. Hells, Hamon thought he vaguely recalled having this exact conversation with her before, but it was like a hundred others lost in the fog of his own memories.

Funny how C’leiha could remember it so clearly, but nothing in the years since.

They reached Saint Popoli’s, and he feared there would be another scene, but the nurse--godsdammit, what was her name? His own mind really was going too, he’d have to ask Chuchuto later as she always remembered these details--stepped in smoothly. “Let’s wait inside Miss C’leiha, while Master Hamon sees to Miss C’oretta.”

“Oh yes, Melly, that’ll be nice, it’s so hot out here,” C’leiha replied, walking with the young woman.

Hamon was certain the nurse’s name was not Melly; that had been one of C’leiha’s friends in her old dance troupe.

C’oretta sighed heavily as her mother was escorted inside. “I hope I did the right thing.”

“I think so,” Hamon said, patting her shoulder. “It’s what’s best for her, and you’re a good girl for doing what she needs, even if it’s hard.”

“She doesn’t even see me anymore like for awhile I thought she was doing better and she seemed so excited for all the dances I was learning and the adventures I was having--I never told her about all the really dangerous things of course--but now she doesn’t even remember and acts like I’m still a child and waits for Papa all the time like he’s still here.”

“Maybe your Scion friends can think of something, given all the other outlandish stuff they pull. Rumor says they’ve even found a cure for tempering. If they can do that, then who knows. Not this old man, hehe.”

She only nodded absently. “I suppose I can ask and see if there’s a way to adjust the process that could make for an interesting study at least but it’s not like she’s been tempered either unless you consider a love like my parents had to be similar to it with the way she’s been.” C’oretta frowned--a wholly alien expression on her face, as she looked up at the building once more. “I hope I never love someone so much.”

Something in his own heart broke. “C’oretta, you know that ain’t how it works—”

“Thanks for the help Master Hamon I really appreciate the support but I gotta go now before Iyna makes bacon outta Violet and strings me up by my tail for being later than I said I’d be I’ll stop by the guild later for some sparring practice all right?” She smiled brightly, fakely, as she waved and dashed off before he could respond again.

Hamon let out a frustrated breath and stretched his aching back. He was really too old for all of this. He spared no further look to the building behind him, his watery eyes instead tracking the bright pink blur weaving through the street until she vanished around a corner.

Too many others just weren’t old enough.

[biot08]

Adroit

In the Rising Stones, Tataru Taru was extremely busy. People were coming and going, and talking to her, and with her, and she directed them, at the same time deftly updating records in books. The Rising Stones was more of a swirling storm, and Tataru Taru stood in the middle of it all, trying to direct it.

One merchant would approach her, and attempt his sales pitch.

“We can offer you and yours the best, and do not the saviors of the realm deserve any less?” he offered, with a broad, inviting smile.

Tataru took a sheet from him that listed what he was offering and what it would cost. “Hmn. At these prices, I think you will find we are more than up to the ~challenge~ of second best,” she returned, making a ‘come here’ gesture to another merchant who was waiting their turn nearby, and setting the two to haggling against each other.

Only minutes later, she was poring over logistics with a shipper. “We can afford to wait for this shipment - it’s more important that it is -correct- and handled with care than that it arrives fast. This other one that you delayed to next week is critical, however. What will it cost us to expedite it?”

A disciplined troupe of Ishgardian knights came in, Lucia at their head, who came to Tataru and bowed politely. Tataru smiled warmly at her in turn, and after exchanging some pleasantries, she directed them to where they could find Alphinaud. Politeness and duty met, the knights settled in while Lucia went to her meeting. Eventually, Tataru was able to find a moment quiet enough that she was able to take some small amount of time for herself. She announced to all present who were left with business that she would return within the bell, and hopped down from her seat. From there, she made her way out to the open air market in Revenant’s Toll to get her lunch, politely turning down a would-be suitor in the Seventh Heaven on her way out.

Tataru loved the open air market. The many adventurers that passed through brought in a wide variety of foods, and more importantly, rumors. And of both, there was great variety, and almost never the same thing twice. Tataru smiled to herself as she unwrapped her lunch and wandered around, seeming to peruse the wares and haggle for deals - which she was! - and also eavesdrop on the conversations that ebbed and flowed around her.

From a former Twin Adder, she could glean that the Ala Mhigans in Gridania were largely, (finally! according to the man talking to his friend) closing out what business they had in the wildswood and leaving to return to their homeland. She considered that would be something Lyse would appreciate knowing. As she sat under a tree, enjoying her dessert, she heard an adventurer of some sort complaining about the crystal shipment they were supposed to have been guarding had been hijacked by overwhelming force. Soon the Scions would know about that through official channels, Tataru was certain, and she made a mental note to put together a travel kit for the trip that would generate. Later, done with her lunch and haggling for a new sorting cabinet she felt she needed, she spied a team of Ironworks engineers gathering together, and heading towards the Crystal Tower. She decided she might consider learning more about whatever that was about later.

Lunch over, she returned to the Rising Stones, and the day continued on much as it had, until it finally fell to the quietude of late afternoon.

Tataru stood in her chair, enjoying the quiet for now. Idly, she picked up a few things on her desk, and began to juggle them. The door to the sleeping area opened, and Tataru looked over, and smiled at Zoissette. Judging from how the Elezen was dressed, she was heading out to do some adventuring.

“Hello Zo!” Tataru called out.

“Hello, Tataru. I’m heading out for a week or so, I think. I’ll have my Linkpearl on me if I’m needed,” said Zoissette. She paused, and watched Tataru juggle, and then looked around at the now mostly-empty Rising Stones.

“Good timing, for once, if it’s this quiet around here.”

Tataru just smiled.

[ilikeyoshi]

ANOTHER PROMPT COURTESY OF @studiousbotanist THIS TIME!!!!! l'aiha has total amnesia since the calamity, so unfortunately she doesn't remember what her favorite childhood food might've been. but someone DID help her learn more about herself through food back in post-ARR!!

--------

"All right!"

L'aiha startles as a large platter is set loudly on the table in front of her. From the other side, Yda grins brightly, pulling up a second chair and starting to point at the various dishes she's presented the Seeker with.

"So I've got a lot of variety here," she explains. "Papalymo is actually a really great cook, you know, and he helped me remember a ton of recipes. One of these is sure to jog your memory!"

"Yda, I..." L'aiha trails off, embarrassed and guilty at once.

The Rising Stones is a lovely establishment. The change of scenery has done wonders for L'aiha, who could never quite feel safe in the Waking Sands after the Garleans' ambush. Here though, tucked deep into a building in a town chalk full of bold adventurers and mercenaries, she knows something like the ambush would be difficult to repeat, especially with Gaius dead and his legion scattered.

Things had slowed down a lot since the Praetorium, for the most part. And it'd been long discovered by the Scions that L'aiha's tattoos were of authentic Sharlayan design. Though she can't remember anything from more than six years ago, it's clear to the Seventh Dawn that somewhere in that lost history, she'd been awarded the honor of Archon.

Which almost HAS to mean she'd spent a lot of time in Sharlayan. Enter Yda Hext, who had sprung to action on more than one occasion, looking for a way to jumpstart L'aiha's memory.

Today's plan of action? Sharlayan cuisine. Yda claps her hands and pushes the platter closer to the miqo'te.

"Go on!" she says. "What are you waiting for? Dig in!"

"Yda," L'aiha tries again. "I do appreciate this a lot, but... I do not think this will work."

Yda seems genuinely baffled. "Oh, why not? Does none of it look any good? Maybe we can try some other dishes and—"

"That isn't it," L'aiha says, shaking her head. She sighs. "I just... I have been trying to remember for a long time, and... every time a new avenue concludes in another dead-end, it's disheartening. What if this doesn't work either?"

"Oh, Aiha, come on," Yda says, radiating sympathy. "Look, I know this must be exhausting to you, but... We have to try, right? Sure, maybe this isn't going to work. But what if it does! What if you remember something, even a small thing like where you first ate this or your favorite food?"

The idea makes L'aiha's heart hurt. Oh, how she wants it to be that simple.

"Come on, I'll eat with you," Yda says, picking out a dish from the assortment; a dessert of some kind, cakey and drenched in sauce. "If nothing else, you'll have some good food and I'll share some stories! This one's my favorite; Papalymo does a really good job of recreating it too."

The tension begins to ease out of L'aiha. Yda's reasoning feels sound to her; she considers the excitable woman a delightful friend, and learning more about the Scions has always made the Seeker happy.

She takes up a fork and carves out a small mouthful of cake. "Okay. That does sound like fun."

"Great! So this one actually comes in a lot of flavors, but chocolate is the classic style and Papalymo insists that if you've had ANY kind of this dessert, you'll have had the chocolate, and..."

Yda rambles as they go through each dish. L'aiha is pleasantly surprised to find she enjoys the hyur's chatter, and what bits of history and culture she gleans from the stories. Yda isn't the best at history, but it's plenty fun anyway.

She forgets about trying to shock a memory to the forefront of her mind through familiar food, content to spend the time in Yda's sunny company.

"Ugh, so this one," Yda says, the corners of her mouth creasing unhappily as she picks up a slice of dry, tough looking bread. "So, my sister looooooves this stuff, and Papalymo says anyone who spent enough time and effort to become an Archon HAS to have relied on this while cramming for a midterm at least once. But it's REALLY gross."

"Oh, really?" L'aiha asks. "Then why eat it?"

"I guess it's pretty filling and an easy snack to get that second study wind going?" Yda shrugs. "All the Scions like it—or, okay, maybe 'like' isn't the right word, but its very specific taste is like... a fond, cringy memory to them."

"I see, so it's... kind of like a very unique, easy fix for malnutrition when you're spending twelve or more hours studying."

"Yeah! Something like that. I told Papalymo we should skip it because, ew, why would you want to remember anything about a GROSS food? But he insists the taste is unmistakable, so, sorry. I tried."

L'aiha blurts out a little snicker, accepting the bread from her. "It's all right. I appreciate Papalymo's, um, pragmatism."

"That's good, because that's all you'll appreciate about that bread," Yda grins.

It makes L'aiha laugh even more. She takes a bite, more concerned with the very real possibility of gagging than whether or not it'll stir something in her. And Yda is right, it's a VERY unpleasant texture, tough and almost intentionally stale. L'aiha makes a few faces as she chews through it, prompting Yda to laugh sympathetically.

"Is it supposed to make your jaw hurt?" L'aiha asks, mostly joking.

"Uh, what? No? It's not usually that hard to chew."

"Oh, strange, because..." L'aiha blinks, and realizes her vision has blurred. "Because..."

"Aiha?" Yda's voice sounds warped and far away. "Aiha, what's wrong?"

L'aiha winces; the bread falls from her hand and back to its plate, as pain blooms in her temple. Just before the room around her disappears, she realizes what's happening.

She blinks sharply, and suddenly she's somewhere else. Like all her Echo visions, she doesn't see her surroundings more than senses them. She can feel herself sitting in a different chair, and hear the scribbling of a pencil she holds in her hand. A ball of aether glows to her left; a magical lamp, she surmises. The air feels cooler, a bit damper, like she's someplace where it rains a lot and keeps the environment well hydrated.

She hears a door open, and feels a spark of joy in her chest. Familiar, alarmingly so, but she can't quite place it. Excitement rings in her ears, and she can't make out the words exchanged between herself and the visitor. But she feels wonderful, happy—she can guess this person must be special in some way.

She feels her hands accept a small plate, and her mouth water with the unique taste of the Sharlayan bread she was just trying with Yda. It tastes like relief, like a saving grace come to see her through what, without it, might've been an impossible task. She feels a light touch in her hair, like a kiss.

Then her senses dull and fade away, slowly replaced by the feeling of being shaken.

"Aiha!" Yda's voice returns. "Oh, gods—don't make me find you a healer!"

"Yda," L'aiha croaks, causing the hyur to leap back in alarm. L'aiha grips her head, wincing back into the now. "I'm all right."

"Was that the Echo?" Yda asks. "It was, wasn't it! Did you remember something?"

"I..." L'aiha struggles to piece it together.

"Oh, Aiha—"

"What is it?"

As L'aiha asks, she's surprised to watch Yda reach out and wipe the Seeker's cheeks with her thumbs. Only then does she realize her face is damp with tears.

"I'm so sorry," Yda says; "I KNEW that nasty thing could only bring back bad memories—"

"No, it's..." L'aiha looks down at the bread on the table. She picks it up, prompting Yda to confusedly move away as she takes another bite.

She feels it again; that little sense that now, she can make it. She laughs around the bite, as more tears fall.

"Aiha?" Yda frets.

"It's good," she finally says. "It's terrible, I mean, but it's good."

Yda stares at her, for a long moment, and then exasperatedly throws her arms up. "Of course you're as weird as the others!"

L'aiha bursts into laughter, rubbing her eyes dry. She finishes the whole slice of bread, and she feels like whatever comes next, she's ready to face it.

[nadana-vhet]

Hot Chocolate

WoL: Ahmi Vhelo, Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te

Pairing: WoL x Haurchefant Greystone

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice boomed behind her, confident and warm as it grew louder as he approached.

Ahmi turned her head to see Haurchefant, dressed in more casual attire as the night wound down and Camp Dragonhead slowly became still. She hummed a greeting towards him, not speaking for a moment as she had just popped a handful of Coerthan berries into her mouth. “You were looking for me - Is aught amiss?” She asked, concerned, after she swallowed. She dangled her legs over the balustrade that overlooked the camp, the highest point that she could climb without directly scaling the tall tower atop the main building. Since coming to Camp Dragonhead in search of the Enterprise, she found herself up here a lot. She enjoyed the calm of watching from above, as if nothing could touch or ground her as she let her thoughts wander.

“Oh, no.” Haurchefant shook his head, patting her blanketed shoulder in comfort. “All is well tonight, my friend, especially now that I have found you! I simply wished to chat with you, ‘tis all.” He winked, sitting next to her and reaching over to pluck a berry from her hand. She rolled her eyes at him playfully, which only led to a warm chuckle from the flirtatious elezen.

She relaxed her shoulders at the relief of knowing she wasn’t needed for something daring, for once. Her hand shifted, allowing the pouch of berries to sit on her knee closest to him as they ate in silence for a few moments, looking up at the night sky of Corethas and watching the moon and the stars through sparse, wispy clouds. It was cold out, so she had taken the precaution of wrapping herself in a blanket, but secretly she enjoyed the slight sting of the chill on her reddened cheeks.

“You seem quite at home here, it seems. Your friend, Alphinaud, has not become accustomed nearly as well,” he chuckled, glancing over at her through his silvery bangs as he mused, “I do not believe you have ever mentioned where you hailed from?” He suddenly seemed aware of this fact, and his tone was almost a hint apologetic, as if he felt bad for not asking before.

“Gridania,” Ahmi nodded, popping another red berry into her mouth before swallowing, “I had actually never left the Twelveswood until shortly before joining the Scions.” She handed the berries over to him, signifying she was done snacking, before moving her hands to rub some warmth into the tips of her ears. “I’ll admit, though – I hate how warm it is in Thanalan. I’ll take the cold over sweating any day,” she laughed softly.

“Ah, it seems we have that in common! I also, in fact, have never left my home domain. Do you think you have room for another in your ranks? If anything at all, I could be of use assisting the Warrior of Light in reaching things in high places.” His hand hovered over the top of her head, as if to emphasize her short stature.

Ahmi attempted to feign offense, but it was hard to hide her amusement at his warmth. “Unfortunately, Urianger already fulfills the needed top-shelf-reaching quota.” For emphasis, Ahmi reached a hand above her head to mimic the action. The simple gesture made Haurchefant’s heart flutter, but for once he didn’t have a witty, flirtatious aside for her. He simply stared for a few moments until she furrowed her brows at him. Halone preserve him, she had only been here a week and he was already faltering.

“Haurchefant?” She questioned, and with his name from her lips he shook himself from his stupor.

“Hm?” He hummed before blinking, realizing his blunder as he cleared his throat. “Well, how unfortunate. I suppose I must continue my existence inside these confining walls.” Haurchefant sighed dramatically.

Ahmi chuckled, though through her amusement she shivered at the growing cold of the evening. “I assure you, Ser Haurchefant, that you will be the first to know if the Scions are in need of another such individual.”

“I look forward to it, Miss-“ Haurchefant paused, noticing the fact that the miqo’te was beginning to suffer the consequences of the harsh Corethas wind. “Never mind that, I request that you let me escort you inside before you become a frozen statue atop my camp!” he offered, turning around and standing on the stone walkway before holding out a hand to her.

“I am sure I would be quite an unsightly statue,” she grinned, taking his hand gratefully before hopping down from the balustrade.

Despite both their hands being covered by gloves, Haurchefant couldn’t help but quietly marvel at how tiny her hand felt in his. He led her inside and practically begged to continue keeping her company, using the excuse that she needed to recover from the cold before he (a most proper and diligent host) would even consider leaving her alone.

The two made pleasant conversation as he lead her through the main castle, down stairs and hallways until eventually he turned a corner to a simple sitting room, having only been recently dusted due to the arrival of the Warrior of Light and her white-haired companions. He hurried across the room to light the fireplace, begrudgingly accepting aid from the miqo’te as she handed him kindling and crouched next to him. “I insist, Miss Ahmi – rest! You must be far too cold.”

“Mm, yes, but I will warm faster if I keep moving.” Ahmi quipped back with a smile.

Haurchefant tried to argue further, but it was useless against her wits. He simply gave in and allowed her to do whatever she pleased, which he began to appreciate as he watched her delicate hands pass over the matches. He continued to notice the small details (he wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not) like her eyes watching intently for any opening to assist further, or the way her blue waves contrasted with the firelight as it flickered to life.

Haurchefant excused himself before he said something too embarrassing, and when he returned he brought a tray with two mugs and two metal kettles, one with a painted blue top, and another red. He set it down on the table in front of the fireplace and gestured towards it with a flourish. “Fortemps specialty hot chocolate – the blue lid is without alcohol, and the red one with.”

“What kind?”

“Why, rum, of course. The only proper alcohol that is allowed to go in hot chocolate, lest I show up to remedy the mistake personally.” He smiled, picking up the mug closest to him and pouring some of the alcoholic hot chocolate into his mug.

Ahmi chuckled, “You sound very passionate about your hot chocolate, Ser Greystone.” She seemed to think for a moment before picking up her mug and pouring from the non-alcoholic kettle, “I hope you are not slighted at the idea of drinking alone, but I much prefer to try out your esteemed recipe unabated, first,” she smiled at him, blowing on the liquid carefully before taking a sip. Her eyes lit up happily, humming contently into the lip of the mug. “Oh my gods, this is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted!” She threw her head back dramatically, closing her eyes as she savored the taste.

“Oh? Well, I know plenty of other things that taste better. Perhaps they even reside in this very room.” Haurchefant’s eyebrows quirked upwards, which offered another giggle from his companion.

She leaned across the table and pushed his shoulder playfully, shaking her head at him, “Are you wont to seduce every adventurer that passes through Corethas?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he corrected, brushing his hair from his face with another wicked smile.

Ahmi rolled her eyes at him, settling herself back in the cozy armchair across from him. “Mm, likely story.” she pursed her lips, but behind the glint of her grey eyes there was a surprising glimpse of mischief, despite her otherwise unassuming demeanor. He wasn’t sure if she was teasing or serious, but even so, he wasn’t quite sure of his own intentions either.

She had discarded the blanket while he was off making their beverages, the fur draped across the back of the chair, her elbows propped against its arms. She wore a a simple enough sweater and skirt combo, with the former being tucked in at the waist to flatter her full figure. It had been about a week since her and her white-haired companions brokered for his help, and he had noticed that she had quickly adapted and bought some warmer clothes from the few merchants that occasionally stopped by to sell their wares. It seemed only practical, since it was unfolding that their stay would be longer than they were expecting – especially with how it was becoming increasingly difficult to procure information about the Enterprise. He would search tirelessly, however, because the one asking this of him was so captivating.

And she vowed to help Francel, of course.

“‘Tis true! And, Camp Dragonhead does not get many adventurers, so perhaps you have been the only adventurer I have attempted to seduce,” he winked again, though there was an inkling of truth to his defense. Of course he had seduced men and women alike, but Camp Dragonhead didn’t get many adventurers, and none of them were as beautiful as her.

“Mm, now I am wondering if you came to find me just to see if you could bed me, with all this obvious flattery. How predictable, the plight of men.” Ahmi teased, her laugh like the bells of the convocation, calling forth its congregation to worship.

“My chambers are open for you any hour of the day, Miss Ahmi,” he grinned, taking another long sip of his boozy concoction. Another jest, but it was absolutely not a joke. Not in the slightest.

Ahmi blushed a little deeper under her already reddened cheeks, still adjusting to the warmth inside the walls. “You cannot expect me to come that easily, foolish man. Perhaps I will indulge you once you have given me a reason besides your boyish charms. A backstory, perhaps?” She hummed at him expectantly, holding out her mug for him as if she expected him to oblige what she was asking.

“I am simply a humble knight of Ishgard,” he bowed his head, but she certainly was not going to take that as an answer. He could talk anyone’s ear off if he so chose, and she had figured that out very quickly. She watched him expectantly, egging him to continue on.

Haurchefant obliged, but not before making her promise to divulge some of her’s in return. He spoke of all the good parts – mentioned being a bastard, of course, as it was unavoidable when she realized he did not share the Fortemps surname. Beautiful and perceptive, he noted. He skimmed over the hatred of his stepmother, of how othered he felt as a child. Instead, he spoke of how hard he trained as a knight, of silly little adventures he had inside and out of the city, and of his young self getting into all sorts of trouble.

He even recounted the tale of trying to defend a woman from some grisly man. Haurchefant had only been a mere fifteen summers at the time, his voice cracking as he valiantly told the man to unhand the lady. However, to his embarrassment, she just laughed and explained that he was just her very affectionate, very drunk husband.

“I see you have been chasing after maidens since you were a boy.” Ahmi giggled, and by that time she was on her third mug of hot chocolate. She kept it without alcohol, which he noted, as she urged him to continue his stories. She felt so blissfully comfortable to talk to, asking questions at all the right places and making him feel like she was actually interested in his silly antics, so much so that he didn’t feel guilty talking about himself as he usually did.

Finally, he told her of Francel and their friendship that he held dear. He recounted the time Francel had gotten kidnapped by bandits, and how frantic and worried he was for his friend as he tracked them down with merely a hunting knife to defend himself. He left out the grisly bits, as he knew she was experienced enough with combat to fill in the blanks. It was then he revealed that it was this deed that finally awarded him his position as a Knight of Ishgard. He was fiercely proud of his position, and Ahmi could tell.

“T’would seem that you, of all people, should deserve the position the most.” Ahmi noted, a steep compliment to Haurchefant, but she spoke it as if it were a simple fact of life. “A true knight should fight for justice and the ones he loves, and it seems you hold the standard for that code.” She smiled brightly at him, and again Haurchefant’s heart threatened to burst from his chest. He knew it was no more than a puppy crush. She was a primal slayer, after all – a beautiful, kind, delightful primal slayer. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in danger of it turning into something more.

“I… thank you, my friend. I appreciate the sentiment more than you know,” he smiled at her softly before glancing down at his mug. She is going to leave, ‘ere long, Haurchefant thought to himself, she has duties to attend to, and I mine. However, that does not leave out the possibility of more casual affairs, if she so chooses…

However, by the time Haurchefant had pulled himself out of his internal musings for yet another time that night, he had found that her eyes had drifted shut, her mouth slightly agape as she slept quietly, curled up in the armchair with the mug still held in her hands, though thankfully it was empty.

When Ahmi awoke the next morning, she was curled up in her own guest chambers, the same fur blanket she had the night before draped over her. The sun shone dimly through the curtains, and though she could tell it was far later than she would have liked to have woken up, her chest filled with a pleasing warmth despite the cold and she allowed herself to rest for a few moments longer.

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

III: Confession

On the topic of family: Aria Vitali and Edmont de Fortemps (featuring Artoirel and Emmanellain de Fortemps)

1563 words

AO3 ver.

[Shadowbringers spoilers below]

❅ ❅ ❅

Lord Edmont de Fortemps watched as Aria smiled happily as she brought the teacup to her lips. The taste of chamomile and rose petals skimmed their tongues, the scent of potpourri bathing them in herbal remedies—to which the lord knew that this combination was her favorite—basking them in a refined sort of indulgence and relaxation. On her plate was an array of pastries, a sweets tower often found in High House tea parties standing in the center of the table while the lord was content with scones and lemon bread.

It had been a while since the woman had returned home, had returned to Ishgard. He had heard news passed from her brother, who obtained his tidbits from the Scions themselves. Whatever she had experienced in this new land called 'the First' clearly had its toll on her. As a father, Edmont was able to pick up on the differences rather quick: the dark circles under her eyes, the scabs of dried over cuts left over on exposed skin and the slight twitchiness she was displaying among some of the tells he knew that she wasn't aware of showing.

However, the lord had more tact than to ask. His home was her solace, a place that she can escape to that bars the entrance of those looking to manipulate her, looking to use her name and status for their own gain. He knew the game Ishgardian nobles were wont to play despite knowing that they should be grateful to the Warrior of Light for freeing them of years of battle with the Dravanians. For sparing them the fate of being razed to the ground by Nidhogg and his brood. He won't suffer for it and all within his estate is painfully aware; after all, they bear the same sentiments as the heads of house.

"Father, is aught amiss?"

Lord Edmont blinked, pulled from his reverie by the woman calling out to him. He offered a repentant smile and inclined his head.

"Mine apologies, my dear, 'tis the old age preventing me from hearing clearly. Would you do this old man a favor of repeating what you last said?"

Aria laughed at the comment, a bird-like, melodious sound, in response.

"If you were of old age, then you would not be moving as spritely as you were when you had greeted me early in the morn. I only mean to say that I had learned of a variant of herb that may aid in your arthritis while in Novrandt. When I next visit, I will harvest some and see what I can do about concocting an herbal remedy."

There she goes again, the lord thought. Caring about others and not for herself.

Edmont's smile widened and he nodded in understanding.

"You are kind overmuch, my dear. You need not go out of your way to procure the ingredients. As you said, I am still a 'spritely' man."

At this, the pair burst into cheerful chuckles and the lord saw the way that the man- and maidservants standing in wait near the wall smiled in kind. The warmth of the Warrior, the happiness of their lord together in one place and one time was a sight for sore eyes. 

The truth is more complicated; the lord being privy to them whispering and collecting news on Aria's affairs, worrying for her as if she was truly a trueborn daughter of House Fortemps. It was a shame that House Lukos, the true blood family of the Vitali children, had originally denied their lineage for the children's mother had conceived them with a lowborn with no status, no money, no honor. It was only after Aria had made a name of herself after slaying Nidhogg in which they tried to claim them as their own, even forcefully at times. They truly didn't know such treasures if it hit them in the-

Edmont took a sip of his tea, pushing the thoughts to the furthest corner of his mind. It was well and good that Stryder, Aria's elder brother, had decided to accept the position of House Lukos' next head of house. It was interesting to learn his decision of keeping the 'Vitali' surname, but he confided that it was because neither he nor his sister wished to forget their roots and where they came from. 

Moreover, the notion of allowing Aria to remain with the Fortemps family was a statement in itself: 'I care not for what you do to me, but I will never allow you to touch my sister with your greedy hands' is the words that was said. At least, according to Echoes, Aria's attendant. Thus was she here, thus has she made this manor her home for most of her days. That is, until the day a certain lord commander clad in blue decides to take her for his wife.

"Father, there is something I must confess," Aria began.

With the way that the woman had gently placed her tea cup down, the way her eyes suddenly went serious, it was something that had been swirling about her mind and heart for a while. So, Edmont did the same and sat upright just a bit more as a silent indication that he was paying attention. He saw that she appreciated notion as she smiled just a bit despite her hesitation before she finally spoke.

"You know, Father, I do not have many regrets in life. I try my best to live as if every moment is my last considering the nature of the work I am doing."

Indeed. There are many souls worrying for your safety every day.

"But, you know, Father... The day that I realized that I was dying, that I realized that the primordial Light was close to consuming all of me, there were a few things that I learned that I regretted."

At this, Edmont's eyes widened in slight surprise, his jaw going slack to which Aria had smiled sympathetically albeit wistfully.

"The first was not telling Haurchefant how much he meant to me. For allowing the fear of being hurt to consume me to the point that I was no longer afforded the chance. When I think about it, I am sure he knew and I am sure he felt the same way. There was too many things going on, after all...!"

Aria chuckled softly to herself, nervously, but Edmont didn't begrudge her for it. He knew from the first the sentiments they had for each other even when they were still figuring it out for themselves. She had gone through so much and she yet pushed on. He could never hate her for it. In fact, it made him love her even more.

"My other regret, though, Father... was not telling you how much you mean to me."

Edmont could only stare at the woman, a whirlpool of emotions swirling within his chest. He saw the manner to which her amethyst eyes glazed with unshed tears, her lips remaining stretched so she would be able to finish her confessions to him before she, herself, fell apart.

"Losing Mother when we were young really tore Stryder and I apart. When I lost my biological father hereafter, I could not help but blame myself. 'If only I was wiser. If only I had reached out to others for help earlier.' I know that he passed from an incurable disease and I truly regret not loving him more.

Yet, I am grateful. For if it was not for his last wish to have us bear witness to Ishgard and its splendors, I would not have become an Adventurer. I would not have met Haurchefant or seen the land that they hailed from. I am sure my mother and father are happy where they are and they would forgive me for such arrogance in saying this... Lord Edmont, I am proud to call you 'Father'. A father that had taken me in his home when I had no where else to go, that has loved and guided me on my path and has wiped my tears when I have cried despite not being his own."

It was at this that Aria couldn't help, but spill the tears she tried desperately to hold back. She sniffled, hiccuped and it brought to life the paternal instincts within him. So much so that he couldn't help but shedding tears of his own.

"Wh-When I thought that I would not be able to tell you th-this, I was heartbroken," she said inbetween her sobs. "So I...I wanted to tell you immediately."

Edmont stood to his feet, circling the table and took the woman into his embrace, patting the back of her head gently. He allowed her to openly weep against his clothing, offering sweet hushes and words of reassurance, and when both Artoirel and Emmanellain had crossed the hall and peeked into the room to see what was happening, he could only give them a reassuring expression.

"Is everything alright, old girl?" Emmanellain asked, ever so tactless.

Edmont nodded. "Indeed. Just a little sentimental, your sister is."

Artoirel smiled helplessly. "Ah, so it seems."

When they approached, Edmont reached out and pulled the two into his embrace, as well. He was blessed to have such children, one who loves him and whom he loves in earnest.

He will confess this to all of Ishgard if need be.

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2020 #3: Muster

(A/N: So I’m trying FFXIV Write ^-^ Idk yet if i’ll go back to try days 1 and 2′s prompts, but I’ve picked up at day 3 for now.

Despite looking up the prompt word and understanding the meaning - gathering up troops, collecting oneself etc - I could not for the life of me actually figure out a story to write for that. However it randomly crossed my mind that ‘muster’ sounded similar to ‘mustard’, so it prompted this instead; a teaching moment for one that might not be used to certain words and would like the help. My miqo girl started in Gridania, so she - and I the player - has a bit of a soft spot for Yda and Papalymo, it’d make sense for her to turn to them.

Word count: 1313)

“Can I ask a favour?” Yda and Papalymo halted their conversation, turning to see a nervously shuffling Fufu standing nearby. One of the newer recruits to the Scions, and one they themselves had even met previously around the Shroud.

“Sure thing! We’ll be here awhile before we have to go back to Gridania, and I’m guessing Thancred hasn’t called for you yet? So whatever it is, we’ll help out if we can,” Yda smiled, giving the miqo’te a quick thumbs up. Despite her hands still wringing on the edge of her tabard, the girl smiled back, slightly reassured.

Taking a breath, she then blurted out, “I need you to teach me smart things please.” Both archons shared a look, confusion evident on their faces.

“That’s a rather vague favour,” Papalymo coughed, frowning, “A bit more elaboration please?”

Fufu’s ear flicked. “Well, you archons are smart scholar people, and you know a lot of things. Like fancy words. I don’t know a lot of words. I can read ‘cos some old scholars would pass through my village every so often and offer to teach the younger kids in exchange for a few days stay, but that was only really enough to get by.” -- she pouted -- “I thought I’d be fine coming here and doing adventurer stuff, just knowing enough to be able to read help submissions from people, but now I’m a Scion, and it turns out I need to know more. I need to know smart words so I can understand missions.”

There was a pause after her impassioned plea as the archons seemed to think it over, then Yda offered a compassionate smile and asked, “Did something happen?”

“Minfilia was talking about the plan -- to handle Ifrit sometime over the next few days. At one point she was talking about the Immortal Flames and how they were gonna get together for their part in it all, but she used a word and I didn’t get it. I only managed to figure out from the rest of the plan that it was about gathering them together, but I started to panic that maybe everyone here will use more words I don’t get, and if I’m gonna be needed for important stuff, I can’t go around not understanding what I need to do.” Her wide eyes grew glossy, her own panic over the situation getting to her. Yda quickly started patting the miqo’te shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

“Oh come now, it’s alright, there’s no need for tears,” she cooed, “What word was it, if I can ask?”

“I-it was something about must-ing the troops? I thought she said ‘mustard’ but that sounds silly and it didn’t make sense, but I didn’t want to interrupt her ‘cos she’s so busy so-!” A tear dripped down her cheek, which Yda wiped away.

“Oh there there, that’s an honest mistake if you don’t know something. We don’t need to-- well, we don’t need to ‘muster up’ tears over this, we’ll simply learn and move on, right?” She flashed a grin at the archer, hoping she understood. Fufu’s ears flattened against her head, but she nodded all the same.

Turning to her partner, Yda asked, “Well, Papalymo, what do you think? I’d be up for a lesson or two to be honest.” She punctuated her enthusiasm by pounding her fist into her hand.

Papalymo nodded, getting to his feet onto the chair and said, addressing the keeper, “Having heard your case, I can well understand your issues. I’d be fine with teaching you a few things. Though I must ask first, out of curiosity, why come to Yda and I for this?”

A sniff. “Well, it’s a few reasons. I know you two better than the others, so that made it feel easier.” Then she glanced around the room, and lowered her voice before continuing, “But the others just feel too difficult to approach anyway. Urianger sounds too confusing and I don’t get what he’s saying most of the time--”

“Understandable,” Yda interrupted, nodding her head, only to flinch when Papalymo shushed her harshly.

“--well, and there’s Y’shtola. She seems nice, and I know she probably is, but I was just worried she’d think I was being silly asking this--”

Yda cut her off again with a gasp, “Y’shtola would never, I promise! She’s incredibly patient if she has the time.” 

“Yda,” Papalymo hissed, “mind your volume.” Indeed, the Hyuran woman’s cry had made the others in the room turn to watch the group, casting curious stares toward their corner. Ducking into the chair and bowing her head low, Yda nodded for Fufu to continue.

“Alright, so Y’shtola could maybe have helped. B-but after you two, okay?” They nodded.

“And why not Thancred?” The pugilist asked.

“He’s busy right now, so I can’t wait till we’re in the field to ask him. And…” she trailed off, shuffling again. Another breath in as though to boost her own confidence, she said, “A-and I’ve heard of his reputation from a few girls around here and in the Bay, so I kept thinking that even if he agreed he wouldn’t take it seriously and he’d just try to--” She stopped as Yda burst out laughing, while Papalymo sighed and shook his head.

“You think he’d be too focused on skirt chasing to teach you?” the Hyur laughed, once again catching the rest of the room to stare at her. The older man grumbled, “I’ve kept telling that man that his habits would come back to bite him someday.”

“Oh, my sides. I’m so sorry,” Yda giggled, “I don’t mean to sound mean about this, but that is just--” Fufu couldn’t help but glance around, feeling a growing discomfort at the attention directed at them.

Eventually, Yda seemed to calm down enough to say with a still mirthful tone, “He has brought that whole image on himself, but I promise you right here and now that he’s not like that when it counts. If you needed help, he’d give it. Hells, he’d probably understand better than most of us what you’re going through.”

Fufu’s ears perked up. “He would?”

“That is a valid point,” Palaymo nodded, “He himself was born and raised in Limsa Lominsa most of his life before coming to Sharlayan at Master Louisoix’s suggestion. I can only imagine the grief he received from his peers when he first started there.” His eyes shone with a realisation as he then turned to his friend and said, “Actually, you would also be a good tutor for the same reasons, Yda.”

“Ey?” Her head snapped to face him. Likewise, Fufu’s gaze turned eagerly to the seated woman.

“Aye, indeed. Yda and her own sister came all the way from Ala Mhigo. I personally helped with teaching them when they asked. I suppose now I remember it, the request wasn’t dissimilar to your own, my dear.” A wistful smile crossed his face.

“Oh, I remember,” Yda nodded, a cheeky smile on her own lips, “You were quite the harsh taskmaster.” This made the mage frown, and he snapped, “Would you rather handle this on your own?”

“No no, the help would be nice.”

Yda turned back to the young expectant looking Scion and said proudly, “We’ll be happy to help you. But don’t exclude Thancred or Y’shtola from the idea either. Don’t be afraid to ask, and you’ll get there quicker than you think.”

Fufu’s eyes shone with fresh tears, though they were now paired with a relieved smile on her face. “Thank you. I really really appreciate this!”

Papalymo hopped off his chair and motioned for the ladies to follow him, stating over his shoulder, “Well then, we’d best get started now while we have the time. Twelve knows when we’ll all be sent off to our respective tasks, so let’s see what we can do now.”

[faeintwilight]

The Bonds You Make

Hi! This is cross-posted from my AO3. This is my first attempt at dipping my toes into the FFXIV writing pool. It does have some spoilers for Heavensward and makes reference to Stormblood, but I believe it is otherwise spoiler-free.

Hoshiko knew as soon as she truly became the Warrior of Light that motherhood was no longer in the cards for her. How could it be when the world was always a hair’s breadth close away from the next Calamity and she was called on each time to help prevent it, as well as each milder one? She was the one on whom so many people’s hopes and dreams fell upon and she harbored no intention of letting them down.

With all of that pressure and responsibility, how could she knowingly bring a child into the world when she would spend most of her time attempting to save that world? Hoshiko needed to travel to dangerous places that were no place for a child at all. What would happen should she die?  Who would take care of the child? Would they be raised by the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss as she was? Would Vivire or  Aisithota take them in? Or would it fall to the Scions to take care of the child? Perhaps that was the option that worried her most, as the Scions were no different from her, tossing themselves into the frontlines of battle to save the world. At the same time, the Scions would certainly be the most devoted caretakers for the child. Between F’lhaminn, Y’shtola, Thancred, Urianger, and the twins, it would be the most learned child, of that Hoshiko was sure.

Hoshiko couldn’t risk bringing a new life into the world, so children were out of the question. She was unsure who the father of her children would be in the first place, as she had no romantic paramours in the first place. As the Warrior of Light, she was too busy for affairs of the heart (even though there were pieces of her heart scattered across Eorzea, with some of it tucked in the chest of Aymeric, where he kept it warm from the Isgardian cold, and some of it in buried in the snow with Haruchefant with his eternal watch over the land he loved, with Hien in Doma, with her home there, and with the Scions, tucked in Thancred’s pocket, though Hoshiko doubted that he knew that he had it). Too many were intimidated by her standing as the Warrior of Light. It was just as well. If she was with someone, she wanted them to view her as an equal, not as someone to be placed on a pedestal.

Even with her decision for forgo children, Hoshiko herself was not immune to maternal urges. They presented in the way she brewed tea for Y’shtola when she stayed up far too late on research and needed something to help keep her mind sharp (Hoshiko knew better than to argue with the Miqo'te when it came to research), or the way she insisted Thancred get rest when he returned from missions, or when he refused to, how she would sit up with him so that if he had to remain awake, he would not be alone. She made sure that Tataru had breaks or time to just relax without being worried about the functioning of the Scions for a time.

The biggest target of her urges were the Leveilleur twins. In Ishgard, during that first visit with Alphinaud and Cid, Hoshiko had fought and bartered and traded for a warm thick cloak, blue with white fur, for Alphinaud, to make sure that he was bundled up and warm as much as possible while they were there together. When the Scions fell to the Crystal Braves, she had fought the urge to pull Alphinaud to her and stroke his hair, to let him know that the following events were not his fault. That was the one time she found herself furious with the other Scions. Alphinaud for all his wisdom, was still a child, and here they were, placing him in power and looking at him to save things when as adults, they should have been the ones to step up.

In Ishgard proper, she felt protective of him because all of the Scions were gone except for Tataru and he was all she had left. That was why she would fling herself into the first sign of danger if it meant that Alphinaud would be okay. If it meant that he would live, then it would be alright if she was injured.

As Hoshiko reunited with Alisaie and learned more about her, she found herself feeling that same protectiveness for the other twin. She appreciated how clever Alisaie was, in a way different from Alphinaud. While she trusted Alphinaud to be clever when it came to politics and governments, Hoshiko found that she trusted Alisaie on the battlefield, for the girl to make her own quick decisions. Even though she trusted the Elezen, Hoshiko still threw herself into battle in order to protect her. These two teens were the future and she would protect them.

She wanted to be there to help. To watch them grow into the amazing adults that would take Eorzea by storm as she knew they would. The Twelve knew that their parents weren’t there to witness it. 

After that, it became easier to view them as family, as something akin to younger siblings. It was different than how she felt about Ryuuji, who she remembered viewing as an annoyance more than anything else. Perhaps it was because of their age, but Hoshiko felt closer to them than she did her own brothers. Then again, at this point, she didn’t know if her brothers still lived.

That concerned her. While she would not have children, she did not want to leave her family without heirs of sorts. Thus an idea came to her. What if, she asked the twins to be her next of kin should something happen to her? It would mean that her family resources would be passed down, she knew Hien would make sure of that.

It took a bit of time to figure out the workings before she called for the twins to meet her in her room at the Rising Stones.

Alphinaud was the first of the two to arrive, ever punctual. “Is anything amiss? Rarely do you call for me specifically,” he asked as he strode into the room.

Hoshiko smiled slightly and gestured to the table in the middle, where she had a spread of sandwiches and snacks. Thanks to Urianger and her own travels with them, she was able to pick up on their preferred snack preferences.

“Nothing is wrong,” she replied. “I just have something I need to discuss with you and your sister is all.” She busied herself by pouring cocoa into a mug, the same drink that Haruchefant had introduced both her and Alphinaud to while at Camp Dragonhead. The action served to distract her from the nervous fluttering in her stomach. There was no telling how this conversation would even go. Would the twins agree to this?

It was well enough that Alphinaud was the first to arrive. Between the two twins, he was more agreeable following social customs and niceties, meaning that he made no remark about her trembling hands, instead taking a seat at the table and taking the mug from her.

“Hm… This must be important if you are making hot cocoa.” He held the mug to his nose and closed his eyes, looking as though he was trying to savor the scent before he took a sip. She hoped that it met his expectations. She would never be able to make it like Haruchefant did, but she hoped it would be close enough.

“Does it meet with your approval?” Hoshiko asked after a moment passed, internally wringing her hands. This made her more nervous than she had originally anticipated.

Alphinaud opened his eyes and she saw the smile that formed behind the steam. “Do not worry friend, it is very well done. Did you get the chocolate from Ishgard?”

Hoshiko nodded. A trip to Ishgard resulted in the chocolate, especially after she told Count Eamont the reason behind the trip. He had smiled and procured the chocolate for her, stating that he hoped it would help. “It is. I was there recently and happened to get some drinking chocolate.”

“It definitely has a different taste than the chocolate around here.”

Hoshiko took a seat at one of the other chairs, sipping her own mug and letting the chocolate attempt to relax her. “It does. I will admit that chocolate is something the Ishgardians definitely got right. Now, pray tell, what have you been up to since we last spoke?”

Alphinaud came to life, speaking of how he had been bouncing between Ala Mhigo and Doma, as well as Kugane, and the city states in order to strengthen the alliances and ensure resources for all, as well as serve as the representative for the Scions. Hoshiko wondered if Alphinaud knew how expressive he became when talking about the details of politics, how he would use his hands to communicate and emphasize important topics. It was in moments like this that Alphinaud really came across as an excitable teen and not the miniature adult that he attempted to show to the rest of the world.

She wondered about his parents. Had they ever shown such interest in listening to Alphinaud talk about where his passions lay? She knew they objected to both of their children leaving Sharlyan in order to come to Eorzea, but she rarely heard much else about them. If they had never shown a fascination, than that was a shame, because it was nice listening to Alphinaud talk.

“I suppose I must be boring you.” He set the mug down, smiling ruefully. “Dare I ask what thrilling adventures you’ve gotten up to at this time?”

“It’s not boring at all. It’s nice to listen to you talk about things you enjoy.” Both hands wrapped around the mug, she looked down at the surface of her drink. “I promise, nothing of particular note has happened. I have been going to slay more Primals that the beast tribes keep bringing back.”

“And you say this like it is a common thing. Rarely do people fight a Primal once and come back alive, but here you are, fighting them multiple times.” He smiled at her. “You can never claim that your life is boring.” 

“Perish the thought.”

The two fell into soft conversation as they waited for the third part of their group to arrive, keeping the conversation flowing light and easy.

“I do hope I’m not terribly late.” Alisaie said after pushing open the door to the room and dusting herself off. “I was looking into something with Urianger, which always takes longer than anyone expects.”

Nerves returned, but Hoshiko smiled as the other twin came into the chamber. “There’s not really such a thing as too late in this case. Unless you meant returning during the next sun. Then I would hope you’d have the decency to use our linkshells to tell me.”

Alisaie’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile before she looked over the table and the spread there. “What is this?” She asked, walking closer. “I’d almost say you were planning something.”

Hoshiko pushed herself out of her chair and got up, motioning for Alisaie to take a seat while she worked on getting the cocoa for her. Thanks to aether and her journeys, she was able to use fire crystals to help keep the cocoa warm without scorching it. “Perhaps I am. Since you are both here, I can explain things.”

Fiddling with the drink gave Hoshiko the excuse of not having to look at them while she started speaking. “I want to start off by saying that you two have become some of my dearest companions. I’ve watched you become wonderful people over the time and while I never had the pleasure of meeting Louisoix, I can’t help but feel that he would be proud of the two of you and how you’ve grown.”

She felt the confusion in the air as she brought the mug over to Alisaie and set in front of her without looking up at her before taking her own seat. “At this point, I view the two of you as my own family.” She folded her hands into her lap, looking at them before looking back up.

“What is all this about?” Alisaie asked.

Hoshiko held up a hand to stop her so that she could finish. “I just need to tell you this. I promise, I will get to the point.”

She took a deep breath. She could do this. She’d stood in front of Ascians and Primals without faltering, so it would only make sense that she would be able to do this, right?

“I am not likely to ever have children. With how my life is, I don’t think I safely can. I have too much of a target on my back and there is a high chance that I will perish in battle as opposed to natural causes at this point.” She reached over for one the sandwiches she’d made, tearing it into smaller pieces on her plate as a further distraction for her anxiety. 

“I also do not know if my family still lives. My brothers were both taken by the Empire as far as I know, but I don’t know anything else. I don’t even know where or how to look. As such, I am assuming that I am the last of my line… I know you two have family already, but I would like to, if I may, if you would be alright with it…” She trailed off.

“Be alright with what?” Alisaie asked, motioning for Hoshiko to continue and earning a slight glare from her brother.

“Would it be alright if I made you two my heirs or my next of kin? Should anything happen to me, I want to make sure that people are told and that my properties and my family’s legacy, whatever may be left of it, are not left to wither away and die.” She did not add that she wanted to make sure that the twins were taken care of as well. She had no doubt in her mind that they would survive with or without her. Still, she wanted to care for them in her own way.

Two pairs of shocked eyes stared at her. It was Alphinaud who first spoke up. “You would claim us as kin?”

“I would. I cannot adopt you, as you two still have family and I am not sure you would even want to be adopted by me, but…” She felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “You two are so dear to me and I would like it so that Eorzea and the realm know this. Would that be alright?”

She noticed the way that both of them looked away from her, but there was a glossy sheen to them.

“Speaking for myself, I would be honored…” Alphinaud spoke softly. “That you would consider me to be family, my dearest friend. No one has served as a greater source of inspiration to me and the realm. But I cannot agree to this alone.” He blinked and looked over at his sister. “Alisaie, we are in this together, or not at all.”

Alisaie reached up and rubbed at her eyes, before looking at Alphinaud. “As if you have to ask. I would gladly claim you as my sister, Hoshiko, as long as you will have me.”

Relief flooded her system as the tears streamed down Hoshiko’s face. She reached up to rub at her eyes. Rarely did she cry in front of others, let alone tears of joy, but there they were, running down her face. “Thank you.”

She heard a sniffle as Alisaie looked away again. “I don’t see the need to cry about this. It really is the most logical answer.”

“I suppose so, but I worried nonetheless.” She finally took a small bite of her sandwich, one of the many shreds on her plate. “There will be a few things to do. I should talk to Urianger for the paperwork, just so that it will be recognized in Eorzea. And then there’s Ishgard and I will need to let Hien know as well. Perhaps him most of all. With his assistance, or maybe Yugiri’s, I’ll be able to find more information on my family resources. And then you will need to meet Vivi-”

Alphinaud reached out, placing a hand on top of hers. “One thing at a time.”

Hoshiko beamed at him, at the two of them really. “Right. One thing at a time.” Her first step would be the paperwork, followed by taking them to visit her aunts. It would only make sense to have both parts of her family that she knew about meet.

But that was something to worry about later. Right now, she would enjoy snacks with her family and worry about everything else later.

[draw-you-coward]

(some violence, killing, an offhand comment abt a bj)

ao3

“Gentlemen,” Thancred says to empty air, “How may I be of service?”

The heavy footsteps behind him come to a stop. Thancred allows himself a small, private smile before smoothing his features and spinning around on his heel.

The thugs don’t seem terribly intimidated by his hearing, nor his graceful footwork. One of the pair crosses his arms, shifting his weight. Thancred shrugs a knife down his sleeve until he can feel the comforting weight of the handle resting against his palm.

“I bet you felt mighty brave,” one of them mocks, advancing, “Telling us off in there.”

Thancred's gaze flicks to the right, at the tavern he had just left. “Not really,” he admits airily. “The lovely lady did not wish to be… plagued by your boorish company, and I didn’t think it was in your rights to argue against that.”

This earns him a laugh. “Your fancy words ain’t going to help you here,” the one who hasn’t spoken yet remarks, advancing. “Neither is anyone else.”

The other one moves to Thancred's right, cutting him off. Thancred licks his lips and smiles, turning to face both of them. The tavern is behind him, now.

“Gentlemen.” He spreads his hands. “Although I am touched you missed me enough to follow me, surely we can agree to part ways peacefully?”

“Oh, so now you don’t want a fight?” They keep walking forwards. Thancred steps back, feels his heel touch the cold stone of the tavern’s exterior wall. “You seemed very eager to pick one ten minutes ago.”

“True colours of a coward, eh?” the one on the left says. “I’d reckon the only reason you said anything earlier was to get your prick sucked by the grateful lady.”

They both laugh, the heavy mockery in their voices thickening the air. Thancred raises an eyebrow as he shrugs another knife down his sleeve, forcibly casual.

“Jealous of my innate charm, are we?” he challenges. “Well, if all you wanted was for me to suck yours, you could have asked nicely.”

That earns him a sudden furious growl, and he ducks down just in time to avoid a swing that would have knocked his head off his shoulders. Not in time to avoid the kick aimed at his stomach, however, and although it only catches him in the knees, he drops the ground with a pained grunt.

He catches himself with one arm and throws out the other, sending his knives spinning at a regrettably awkward angle. He must have hit something solid, however, because when he rolls to avoid another blow and straightens into a crouch, he sees one of the thugs curled up on the ground.

A large cutlass glints as it arcs towards Thancred’s neck, and he parries it with the blade at his belt, drawn by quick fingers. He slices the man’s stomach open, stepping away as he gurgles and falls to his knees.

There is a gunshot, startlingly loud. Thancred’s head whips towards the other thug as a chunk of wood breaks off and falls from the tavern’s roof.

A miqo’te woman is standing astride the fallen man. Thancred watches as she kicks his pistol away before bringing her heel down on his neck, quick and vicious. He hears a dull snap, and the man’s head goes unnaturally limp.

“I suppose it is too late to simply wait for the authorities to apprehend them,” Thancred comments wryly, his reflexive sarcasm functioning even as the rest of his brain tries to puzzle out the situation. Who is she? Why did she step in to help him, since she appears unarmed? Why hadn’t Thancred noticed her?

The woman looks up at his words. She steps down from the body and faces him, quickly taking him in. Thancred does the same, curious.

There are wrinkles by her eyes and mouth, but her gaze is piercing and spry. The end of her hair is pulled into a loose black braid, slung over her shoulder in a miqo’tian style typical of those who dwell in the desert. There is… something about her eyes that is odd, but Thancred cannot tell in the dull light of dusk.

She smiles, then, and the oddness manifests in the form of familiarity. How strange—Thancred does not recall ever meeting her. But he meets a lot of people, as the life of a Scion is, at times, a social one. Well, the way he does it, at any rate. He doubts, say, Urianger spends much time with anyone at a tavern, let alone complete strangers.

“You could always try,” she replies, walking towards him. “I would love to watch from a distance and see how it goes.”

Her voice is moderately accented, and it solidifies Thancred’s theory about her being from the desert. He has only heard such a cadence from the rarely-seen miqo’te that dwell in the Sagolii—Ikael’s people, actually, although the fellow himself has mostly worn his own accent down.

They are in Thanalan, so it makes sense, but it is odd to see a lone miqo’te out in a tavern, away from their tribe. What is she doing here?

Thancred bows, not wanting to forfeit his manners in the place of rude curiosity. “I doubt it will end without me getting a stern talking-to,” he says. “In any case, I must thank you for aiding me, my lady. I am called Thancred, and I am at your service.”

He straightens up in time to catch her amused smile. She replies, “You did not seem to need the help, Thancred, but you are welcome. I am called…”

There is a short, insincere beat.

“M’aev,” she finishes easily. It is a lie, but a smooth one. Thancred politely does not point out that he is quite sure the M tribe is Ala Mhigan. What does the average hyur know about miqo’te, anyhow? He would be a hypocrite to disallow her her secrets.

Thancred takes her hand—rough, tight brown skin—and brushes his lips over it. “I must thank you regardless, M’aev,” he states. “Anything can go wrong in a fight.”

A twinkle of amusement dances in her eyes. She pulls her hand back, then briefly touches her fingertips to his cheek, idly tactile. “Then it was bold of you to stand your ground,” she says. “I noticed you earlier, in the tavern. Getting between that girl and these,” she curls her lip up at the thugs’ motionless bodies, “… ruffians.”

Thancred bows. “A gentleman does as he must.”

“Of course, dear.” She pats his cheek in an almost maternal fashion. “Are you injured?”

Thancred shakes his head. “Not more than a little bruised, he says. “We should get going before anyone notices us.”

He glances at the tavern’s windows. “Not to rush a lovely conversation with a lovely lady,” he adds out of persistent habit, “but it is only a matter of time.”

M’aev’s lips quirk up before straightening. “Of course.” She gestures to him, then begins to walk away. “I set up camp not too far from here. No inquiring eyes will go searching there.”

Except for Thancred's. He trots up to her, following with a quiet tread. Her stride is quick, but confident. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Protecting the innocent and those who cannot defend themselves,” he comments as they walk, “is what me and mine do. Our organization, that is.”

She raises an eyebrow without look at him, and ducks under a low-hanging branch. “Oh?”

“We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” Thancred tells her as he follows suit. “And I find myself thinking that your graceful and deadly self would be a good addition to our numbers, if you so wish.”

This time she outright laughs. “Oh, so that is the reason for the excessive flattery, is it?” she asks. She sounds amused, thankfully, and not offended. “I am sorry, young Thancred, but I am not quite the energetic and hopeful adventurer to whom joining a supposedly secret organization would seem like an appealing idea. I appreciate the offer, however.”

He nods, easily acknowledging the rejection. “I did not hold out much hope for it to be accepted,” he admits with a smile. “But I am supposed to try nevertheless. I reckon telling you that we house the newly-acclaimed Warrior of Light would not sweeten the pot?”

She pauses. Thancred pauses as well, watching her carefully. And then M’aev lifts her hand and points to a hill.

“There is my camp,” she says simply.

They settle down as comfortably as they can. There is a firepit already set up; Thancred watches as M’aev waves a hand over it ignite it. Curiouserer, he thinks as the conjured flame dances in her eyes. Is that a word?

“I know about you.” She speaks up. Thancred glances at her, readying himself for antagonism, but he sees only calmness in her gaze.

“Of you Scions and your Warrior of Light,” M’aev continues, smiling softly. “Your very secret headquarters are in Vesper Bay, are they not? Where there is no aetheryte.”

Her eyes are shrewd. Thancred breathes out a laugh, stretching his neck before lightly shaking his head.

“You seem to know a great deal more about me, my lady, than I know about you,” he ventures. And this is not something he would usually bring up, but… “In my way of business, such a thing is odd.”

M’aev begins to undo her braid, fluid and efficient. “Of course you are,” she murmurs, as a reply to what he has not said. “Charming and handsome lad like you? What else would they use you for?”

And there is the interesting commentary Thancred had been hoping for.

“Charming and handsome? My dear lady, you flatter me.” He ducks his head in a semi-serious bow. M’aev lets out a light laugh.

“So did they use you to recruit—the Warrior of Light, then?” Her hesitation is barely there; such a fleeting thing… but Thancred notices it. “From what I have heard of him, he does not seem like the rough and tumble adventurer type either. But someone like you could have convinced him, I would imagine.”

Thancred raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Are we a Warrior of Light fan?” he asks with a wink. “I should tell him I caught another one; he will go red and perhaps faint from the attention.”

She laughs again, soft but long. Thancred gets the oddest feeling that he is missing something.

“Is that so?” she says. “He shies from it, then?”

There is… something. The tone of her voice. The oddest little upturn to the corner of her mouth, the strange softness in her eyes. Thancred dwells on it for a moment… and then sighs inwardly. Of course Ikael would still have that effect on a complete stranger who had never met him.

Thancred grins, a spark of remembered familiarity emerging as the opportunity to tease his (admittedly absent) friend presents itself. “He really is,” he says. “All of that attention from all of those beautiful ladies is wasted on him! He actually did faint, once; turned red as a rolanberry and before we knew it…”

He pops his lips, imitating Ikael swooning and falling to the ground in perhaps an overly-gratuitous fashion. M’aev seems delighted, however, and Thancred is rewarded with another laugh. He joins in, chuckling at the memory.

“The poor dear.” M’aev presses her lips together. “Ah, I am sure the flood of attention will die down in a few moons.”

“Ikael would be relieved to hear you say that.” Thancred pokes at the fire. When he doesn’t get a response after a minute, he glances back at M’aev.

She is focused intently on the flames. Thancred drops his stick, and her gaze flicks back up to his. Her expression relaxes.

“Ikael… Jelaar?” she pronounces carefully, curiosity edging her tone. “That is what he is called, yeah?”

Thancred nods. “Almost,” he says. She had put the emphasis on the wrong syllable in “Jelaar”. “Jelaar.”

She tilts her head. For a second, that strange familiarity flickers back, and it gives Thancred pause. M’aev’s chin lifts upwards incrementally, and she—for an instant Thancred is sure she sees something in his face, she knows—she—

—turns away, running her fingers through her unbraided hair and shaking her head to allow it to settle naturally. It falls as a thick black curtain, blocking her face from Thancred's view. He looks away.

“Do you have a linkpearl?” he finds himself saying after a few minutes, when the silence feels as if it is just about to burst.

M’aev shakes her head, scattering it. Thancred is already digging through his things.

“Here,” he says, holding out the extra he keeps for new recruits. M’aev takes it, looking it over curiously. “You can contact me with it. In case you ever find something you think we should see… or change your mind about not wanting to join.”

He adds a wink for good measure. He bites back his words about her contacting him if she is ever in danger; somehow, he doubts she would.

She smiles, dipping her head graciously. “Thank you, my dear,” she says. “I appreciate it, although I have nothing to give in return.”

He smiles back and shakes his head. “The pleasure of your company for an evening was enough,” he says. His smile turns into a grin at her ensuing raised eyebrow and flat look. Too far, then. “I only mean the conversation, of course! Ah, you remind me of a friend of mine…”

She gets up, moving away from the firepit to shake out a sleeping roll. “This is my extra,” she calls over her shoulder. “Feel free to stay here if you have nowhere to rest for the night. You will not have to worry about keeping watch.”

She makes to duck into the small tent set up a few fulms away, but pauses. “Goodnight, Thancred,” she says quietly. “And goodbye.”

The farewell seems oddly final.

She disappears into her tent. Thancred keeps looking as the flap closes and the night goes still. Her comment about not keeping watch intrigues him; she must have warded the grounds somehow. Not an easy task unless one is at least proficient in the arcane.

Thancred scoffs at himself, shaking his head. Some part of him recognizes that had she been so inclined, this would qualify as a missed opportunity for quite an interesting new Scion. And yet…

He puts out the fire with splayed fingers and a willpower that is not as strong as others’ could be, but still sufficient. Then he crawls over to her sleeping roll and lies on it, connecting the stars in the sky into familiar shapes. He has a feeling this will be gone in the morning: firepit, tent, and miqo’te all. Perhaps even her bedroll. The entire encounter, vanishing without a trace of its existence.

Thancred closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

He is right.

~*~

[another-rough-draft]

The Mime Order Review

The Mime Order by Samantha Shannon

★★★★★

Also available on Goodreads

Read: October 2017

Finally, finally after all this build up, Samantha Shannon brings readers back to London -a setting she had really only explored through flashbacks in The Bone Season. While I enjoyed reading about Paige’s adventures in the penal colony, Sheol I doesn’t hold a candle to the immense world of The Mime Order. I’ve seen authors create entire planets for their books, but even they cannot begin to compare to the elaborate worldbuilding Shannon executes in her second novel. I won’t knock a star from my rating of The Bone Season, as it was definitely a 5-star book, but The Mime Order was (somehow) SO. MUCH. BETTER.

This is a book you need to jump into directly after finishing the first. If not, you may want to brush up on your understanding of Shannon’s world, as it does get convoluted at times. For the most part, however, Shannon does a wonderful job of making sure the reader is adequately informed.

So let’s get into it.

Paige has escaped Sheol I, she’s now Scion’s most wanted fugitive, her relationship with Jaxon Hall is strained to say the least, and Warden is awol. Things pick up right where The Bone Season left off with one of the most intense scenes in the book: the fugitives’ return to London. From there, Paige’s life just gets harder and harder.

Each storyline leads the reader to a new place in Shannon’s alternative London, and the setting is truly what drives this book. Littered with Victorian imagery, the underbelly of Scion London is bursting with personality, and Shannon leaves plenty to be explored in future books. I don’t know if I completely trusted her ability to write seven books in this series after the first (although Sheol I was fun to read about, it was a bit underdeveloped), but now I’m convinced she could fill an encyclopedia. I’d put this on par with Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha Trilogy (and all subsequent books).

It should be noted that Paige’s character improves immensely. Gone is the unreasonably aggressive and emotionless heroine from The Bone Season. Paige’s personality is developed beautifully in The Mime Order, and is probably the most telling piece of evidence that Shannon has grown as a writer since her debut novel. Additionally, her relationships with the secondary characters are explored at length. Nick was probably my favorite from the first novel, as he was the only character who brought out any ounce of emotion in Paige. Now we have Jaxon and Eliza and Ivy and Alfred and so many others. Shannon devotes time to each of her characters at length, and they each affect Paige in a different way. Her relationship with Jaxon Hall is by far the strongest in this book.

But I can’t forget about Warden. I was disappointed in the way Shannon handled their romance in The Bone Season, but she manages to make up for it in The Mime Order. Warden is absent for the first 1/3 of the book, which I really appreciated, as it allowed Paige to develop as a character apart from her love interest. Even when Warden does return, the romance is by no means overpowering. Shannon included a bit of a forbidden romance trope, which I’m not going to lie I’m a total sucker for. I’m here for the ~secret love~

Take aways:

Jaxon Hall is one of the most brilliant villains(?) I’ve read about in awhile

Samantha Shannon is a worldbuilding goddess who can pack more detail into a few city blocks than most YA authors can for an entire kingdom

Warden is slowly developing a personality and I’m here for it