#so it's gonna get done before the rest of the scions even know she's up

[tallbluelady]

"let's go smash some stuff until you're ready to talk"

Before Rowan could even reach for the doorknob she heard a knock.

"Ro?" Khaliun's voice was soft but clear through the door. "Are you awake? Will you talk to me?"

"I'm awake." Rowan grimaced at Ardbert. "Though I'm regretting it at the moment."

"I can't blame you for feeling that way but... Cerigg and Taynor said they're ready to face Phronesis once and for all."

"What good is that going to do? I've seen the sky." 

"It'll be something for you to do while everyone insists that you rest," Khaliun said. "And we both know that resting really isn't your style."

"Senseless destruction isn't either."

"It's not senseless - it'll help lay a poor sinner to rest," Khaliun said.

Rowan sighed and looked to Ardbert, who was doing his best to hide his emotions.

"Mayhap purposeful destruction will do me some good..."

[wind-up-thancred]

bit of thancred character musing under the cut that im gonna try to approximate from a 6am discord rambling into something i can actually post. both SHB and EW spoilers included

i saw some folks talking on twt about how guilt seems to be a very important factor in his life and i agree. i think a lot of major parts of his character and arcs have been due to guilt over something he did (or didnt even really do, re: the whole goobue rampage situation). it's driven him to work his ass off after louisoix which lead to him getting possessed... but its probably also what motivated him to do better for ryne after being forced to look his fuckups directly in the eye instead of just wallowing about them. but i think, at the same time, he doesnt really seem to, like... actually be proud of himself for a lot of the stuff he's done in order to work off that guilt? the biggest giveaway for that being the line in endwalker on the ragnarok where he talks about his "good deeds" cynically and seems to insist that they were never really that impactful in the first place. that they'll just go to dust when he dies.

in shb, during the ahm areng segment, not only does he talk down on himself in general, but also puts down his attempts to help OG minfilia back in the pre-ARR days... when i'm pretty sure she never even blamed him for the goobue rampage in the first place.

it's all a little bit sad to me, tbh. i've seen some people reason that, because he was only able to escape poverty due to louisoix seeing potential in his thieving skills, he's essentially internalized the idea that he's only really worth keeping around by ANYONE if he's actively being productive, either helping others or trying to fix whatever fuckups he feels he's made. i think that would explain a lot of this

note the "few positive traits" line, which to me comes across as "i was only picked up out of childhood poverty because he thought my skills were useful." though i don't really know how much of that mentality he's managed to work past by post endwalker. he IS able to go off on his own, and mentions that he trusts the scions to keep themselves safe now... but as i ranted about before, the short story points out that he's only really content to rest briefly before he feels obligated again to seek out unrest to try and help, specifically mentioning minfilia again. also, a couple times during the story, notably post ARR after his possession, mid SHB after he's wounded in a fight with sineaters, and post SHB after he passes out due to the weakening soul-body bond, he seems to dislike even having to rest for medical reasons

it's a pretty interesting part of his character to me. idk if the writers specifically had his rigorous upbringing in mind when they wrote these parts of his character, but to me it would make a lot of sense as an explanation for why he's so averse to rest and why he carries so much guilt and why he's so passionate about keeping the folks around him safe. that's kinda been his whole reason for life since he was a kid-- using his skills for the benefit of others. to him, doing anything other than that would be a waste, it seems.

idk. funny guy makes my heart hurt. yes i had all these dialogue screencaps saved and on hand. yes i am a little insane. what of it

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 19: taken

She and Avery have been together for a while. Rita thinks she’s probably getting a decent enough handle on this dating thing, considering she’s never done it before.

(“What th’ fuck,” Gan says when she mentions that. “What about Emm?...what do you mean, not th’ same thing?!” But it isn’t. This is serious. She and Avery live together, fight together, have faced down the end of the world together. He may not have her near-bottomless well of aether, may not have been Hydaelyn’s Champion first, but his is the seat of Azem—alone among the Scions, alone among all the men of the world, he is the one she trusts on the battlefield. And because he is kind and patient and good—because he calls her my lady and means it—she trusts him with her heart as well.)

(It is absolutely not the same thing as when she was with Emmanellain de Fortemps.)

They’re in Tural for two days when she realizes she might have a problem. Not with Avery—gods, no, even in this beautiful land filled with new and exciting people, he only has eyes for her. (Sometimes literally. When she debuts a new swimsuit he nearly trips off the edge of the For’ard Cabins pier.) She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is loyal.

No, her problem is with everyone else.

Wuk Lamat shrugs cheerfully when she brings it up. “There aren’t a lot of elezen here! Avery’s just...new. Exotic! Like I was in Sharlayan!”

Rita narrows her eyes at her. “When you were in Sharlayan, you were single.”

“What does that have to do with...oh. Oh. Right.” Wuk Lamat certainly understands when flirtation is directed at her—though watching her try to flirt back is an exercise in torture—but when it comes to other people, well, the subtext has to be delivered with a sledgehammer. “But he’s so—I mean, no offense, but he’s so spindly.”

“Your fellow Tuliyollans don’t think so,” Rita growls. (Technically untrue; spindly is certainly an accurate description next to a Xbr’aal or a Hanuhanu or even most Mamool Ja, and she and Avery and the twins have gotten a lot of extra portions foisted on them by locals who think they need to eat more. But that’s not the part she’s complaining about.)

They’re sitting at a little table outside Aunt Tii’s, drinks in hand. Avery’s in line—it is a long line—to fetch them lunch. It’s an Ishgardian thing, Rita had explained, and then Wuk Lamat had asked her what Ishgard was like and that conversation had lasted them until Avery was three people away from the counter and Rita had looked up to see a Tonawawtan woman leaning over from behind Avery to put her hand on his arm, gazing softly up at him and asking something about where he was from, he was so tall...

Rita sets her piña colada down, takes a deep breath, and adjusts her bra straps.

“Oh no,” Wuk Lamat says.

Her ears are pinned back, but only the Xbr’aal here will know what that means. She rises from her seat like the tide. “I’m not gonna hurt anyone,” she says evenly.

She doesn’t have to. No, instead she saunters over to where Avery is, setting each foot in front of the other in a way she knows emphasizes the curve of her hips. It’s immensely gratifying to watch Avery turn to watch her, a smile tugging at his lips, but that’s not why she’s doing it. No, she leans against him, draped against his side with his hand coming to rest on her waist, and says, “Love, refresh my memory. Did I order th’ shrimp tacos?”

Avery blinks at her. She knows what he’s probably thinking—that she rarely forgets anything, not least because she writes everything down. “You did; why?”

She shrugs. “Wanted to make sure. The table next to ours had some and they look incredible. Think we can get extra salsa?”

He peers over the tops of his glasses, doing that little squint he does when something is at the exact wrong distance for his farsighted gaze and yet too far for the glasses to help. “Aunt Tii seems not to have run out yet.”

She grins, sharp and not aimed at him. The Tonawawtan woman has shrunk back, red-faced, and Rita spares a moment to flick her the coldest glance she can. Back off, her eyes say. He’s mine.

Her mouth, on the other hand, says, “Grand! Extra salsa for me, then. Th’ mild stuff, I don’t wanna accidentally kill you.”

Avery’s ears turn red. “I am perfectly capable of handling spice—”

She grins up at him, twining a lock of his hair around her finger. “I know. But we can’t cheer Wuk Lamat at her coronation if your mouth’s on fire.”

They order the mild salsa. By the time they’ve got their tacos, everyone trying bites of everyone else’s—Wuk Lamat’s pulled xibruq is the clear winner—Rita’s almost entirely forgotten having to stake her claim.

She does sit a little closer to Avery than she normally does, though. Just in case.

[smallest-turtle]

Scion Teenager Squad Upon Ye

Deidre has more than one person she's close with beyond typical friendship but Alisaie is the only one where that relationship is also a romantic one. I like Alisaie's energy, she feels and shows all of her emotions very intensely and she does not fall into the same trap the other scions had to crawl out of with the willingness toward heroic self sacrifice. Another thing I've posted about before is that when She helps the wol, she is doing what the wol is also doing. When other scions help the wol, they are doing things out wol wouldn't be doing to begin with. When she helps us she is ACTUALLY lightening our burden, imo.

I like her and Deidre together because they're both red mages, and I have her involved in the rdm questline. She gets to see Deidre kind of struggle with the class, due to her being a white mage and her having taken up dark knight already, which is something the others never really see. Alisaie knows Deidre from dealing with Bahamut (and admired her prowess and witnessed how she would build a little camp and make sure she and alphy and arenvald all got fed), but being reintroduced to her in this setting where she Struggles opens her eyes more leading into the canon events. She cares deeply about everyone, she sees how Deidre is still pretty distant from the Archons, and helps bridge that gap by ensuring they Work Together, which Deidre really appreciates after feeling like they just send her (and arenvald) to fight alone. Alisaie is one of the few who are truly willing to see the emotional struggle Deidre has with Not Wanting to be the wol but continuing because no one else could any of those things, and how it combines with both her childhood 'if you want something done do it yourself' stubbornness and her genuine desire to help a cause bc its important to someone shes come to care about.

Deidre appreciates that Alisaie, like Arenvald, helps her in the things she's actually doing to begin with, and that she doesn't shy away from the parts of her that are ugly and bitter about whats happened to her. When it comes to Deidre seeing herself in Zenos, comparing herself to him in how she's his equal as the Alliance's weapon against the Empire, she's gonna argue but she wont say the alliance Doesn't use her as their trump card the way the rest of the scions would. She also argues for Deidre to rest like a normal person the way Haurchefant does, and carves out the space for her to do so when needed. She's there for her emotionally when she's struggling after she's recovered from being turned into the Light Warden, when she has her breakdown bc the white hair after the transformation wont hold dye well and cuts it all off, any time she needs reassurance that her scars are flesh and not crystalizing since she has nerve damage in her hands and can't feel well, there's a lot of personal self-image stuff that Deidre struggles with that really only Alisaie is privy to.

In Deidre Alisaie gets someone who has similar motivations to her, they work together very well, much like in canon she makes Alisaie want to improve herself. She likes that Deidre is drawn to experiencing new things and that they can do that together, and that even with her adventuring she knows Deidre will always circle back to wherever she feels is home. She considers Deidre to be reliable and easy to talk to, doesn't judge when Alisaie has to take a few tries to work her emotions out into words or has to troubleshoot her feelings about a situation out loud in order to puzzle them out properly. She also morphs anywhere they're staying into a stable, predictable environment they can anchor themselves to amidst the tossing and turning of always traveling, which helps Alisaie keep her head on straight.

Also they're teenagers/young adults (as time progresses) and they can just be silly together sometimes. They've been through a lot of hardship, but their relationship is also one that can survive normalcy and peace. They are each just as likely to join the other on an adventure as they are to sit quietly in the other's company while they work on something. They also get along decently with each other's families and other loved ones which is a bonus.

Another random WoLQotD/OC question

I thought I'd ask this while I worked on my other questions. :)

If you're a WoL x NPC shipper, what drew you to that ship and why? What makes that ship the pinnacle for you and your oc? Is it that you love the canon character you write them with, you find their dynamic interesting or something in between?

If you're not a WoL x NPC shipper, but you have a ship with another person, how did that come about? What makes that ship fulfilling for you? Has the ship impacted your relationship with that other person? Feel free to gush, I wanna hear it!

Oh, and pictures are a must (if you have them).

[vierandancer]

For what felt like an age, Meiko clung to the door of the Ocular like a beggar seeking asylum in a church. If the friendly guard had been waiting outside like always – it must have been his break – surely, he would have been alarmed by both her behavior and expression.

It’s still here. Of course it would still be here, though. Otherwise, where would she have ended up? The First is still here.

Which meant the Source was, too.

A part of her wanted to find Ryne or Lyna again, but she knew she had to return to the Source and tell everyone everything as soon as possible. She did not have the luxury of lingering.

–

Traveling between worlds often left Meiko feeling a bit drained, and so when she reappeared at the Sharlayan aethernet plaza, she once again found herself leaning against a structure.

Eyes scanned the heavens for signs of impending doom, and fortunately, there was none. Not here. Not yet.

Time. Time. Time. The word repeated in her head as she steeled herself and braced her body to break into a run. She had to tell everyone. She had to tell everyone everything, as soon as –

“Meiko! Did you just get back?”

She stopped, practically jerked back before she could take another step. There was A’kihiko, jogging up towards her.

“What’s the news from the First? Did you manage to drag anythin’ outta Elidibus? Wish I could’ve gone with. We really need to figure out how to get us all back and forth ‘tween the worlds some–why’re you crying?”

She didn’t quite know why. Well, no. She did. It was a mixture of things, both happy and horrified; seeing her brother reminded her yet again just how strongly their fates were entertwined, both as Scions…and shards of Azem.

Sundered. She had seen through Venat’s eyes how they had all been sundered.

Again, she was clinging, this time to his shoulders and she sobbed. She had done such a good job of keeping the waterworks at a minimum this whole time, but seeing Hiko brought it all down on her again.

“Mei! Did something happen to the First?!”

“I – “ She didn’t want to worry him. “The First’s fine – s’fine, peaceful – I just –” She paused, drawing back and shaking her head. “No, we – we have to tell everyone. I – I don’t even know where to start –”

“It’s only me and Krile and Tataru here,” A’kihiko frowned, looking her over. “Afore we do anything, let’s sit down. Come on, you’re a bloody mess.”

“No, Hiko, we need to – we don’t have any time –”

“S’the End of Days, Mei.” He took her by the arm and started dragging her down the steps. “We got the rest of our lives. Now stop fighting and walk.”

–

Considering the sensitivity of the information, A’kihiko deemed they’d take their food from the Last Stand to the docks. He carried both their plates, insisting Meiko walk on ahead  with the drinks as if she needed to be supervised, and the two of them took seats on the edge of one of the piers.

“There we go,” he grunted as they both sat down, allowing their legs to dangle over the water. “Just like when we were kids, aye?”

“Mm.” Meiko’s tears had dried, but she knew there was a chance that wouldn’t last for long. Already, she could feel emotions stirring in the pit of her stomach, bubbling up to her throat. “…Are you gonna let me talk now?”

“Sure. So long as you don’t forget to eat,” He was already choping into something of a fried fish on a stick himself. “Spill.”

Meiko couldn’t help but laugh a little at his behavior, reminiscent of when he had been but a malnourished kit, and then turned her gaze towards the waters below. Time. The concept was inescapable.

“…Lyna and Ryne are fine. They’re well, and the First is seeing an age of peace,” she started finally. “Though, even Ryne admits she’s sensed somethin’ off as of late. I told her what’s been on, but she had nothin’ new to add herself.” She chewed her lower lip. “So I went to the Oculus to see if I could get hold of Elidibus’ consciousness. Don’t ask me how I did – but I did. We spoke a fair bit, and in doin’ so, he remembered some new information. Nothin’ too useful, but it brought him to the conclusion that… he should send me to the past.”

A’kihiko looked up. “The past? What past? How?”

“Usin’ the bloody Tower. He had … I don’t know, he had power over it somehow.” She couldn’t explain or understand that if she tried, despite her best efforts. “Just – he opened a portal for me. A portal to Elpis.” She looked at him. “S’not just that moody flower, Hiko. Elpis was a place – a testin’ facility. Of the Ancients.”

Her voice trembled and she looked at the burger in her lap, appetite lost.

“I went back – and I walked ‘mong them. I met them, Hiko. Hythlodaeus, Venat…and Emet-Selch. They mistook me for a familiar of Azem, one o’ his creations.” She shook her head slowly. “Elidibus had told me that Fandaniel was once the chief of Elpis, told me to find out what I could about him. That maybe there was a secret to stoppin’ the End back then. So I tried not to look out of place and just…passively learn, aye?”

“Nothing ‘bout our lives is passive.” Her brother muttered. He, took, was slowly shaking his head. “So, right. You traveled through time. Met the Ancients. Pretended to be a magicked thing. What then?”

Meiko closed her eyes. “Venat recognized I was from the future.”

“Ah fuck,” Hiko whispered.

“They…she, Hythlodaeus, and Emet-selch they insisted I tell them everythin’, and I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know what I was lookin’ for, and Emet would’ve likely arrested me or some shite if I refused. So I did it. I told them ‘bout the End of Days, and Amaurot…and how we fought on the First.”

Meiko wrung her hands together.

“Hermes – that’s Fandaniel, his true name – he was at the center of it all. Him and his creation, this wee bird lass called Meteion. She was an experiment tied to Dynamis – akasha, that is. Hermes sent creatures just like Meteion into the sky to discover new civilizations and learn from them, and they’d connect to Meteoin through a single mind and report back on their findin’s. But what they found was…well. It was fuckin’ depressin’, I won’t lie. Dead worlds, fallen civilizations, empty and barren stars…”

She looked to her brother.

“But that was just – that was a narrow observation. Just because things ended, didn’t mean that there was no happiness when those worlds were alive! But Meteion and Hermes didn’t accept that. They got all fuckin’ nihilistic and drew the conclusion that life itself is nothin’ but pain and sufferin’. So…”

“So that’s the source of it,” A’kihiko finished. “Hermes and Meteion, then? They’re the cause?”

Meiko shook her head, “Only Meteion. She escaped into the stars before we could put an end to her, and Hermes put into effect a memory-erasin’…somethin’ that hit him, Emet-selch, and Hythlodaeus. Only Venat and I escaped. So,” she gave a humorless, dry chuckle, “Turns out I didn’t screw up the past. I was part of it all along.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then her brother nudged her.

“Eat your burger, you said you would.” When Meiko finally acquiesced, A’kihiko went on, “So Venat did what she did, and became Hydaelyn, with full knowledge of what was to come. Guess it’s safe to say we can trust her after all, then.”

“Aye,” Meiko muttered through a mouthful. “She – she wasn’t what I expected. I learned she was the previous Azem. Our Azem’s predecessor. Beat the shite out of me at one point,” she snorted lightly and swallowed. “Emet-selch was the same snarky wet blanket, but a wee bit more tolerable. Hythlodaeous was a doll. Hermes was…” she shook her head. “Despite it all, I still liked him far more than fuckin’ Fandaniel.”

A’kihiko laughed now, too. “He was an awful fuck wasn’t he? But considerin’ what you said – I can see where that piece of him came from. Wantin’ to die.”

“And wantin’ to protect and support Meteion. He must’ve known she was out there, too. To some degree,” Meiko paused to take a sip of her own drink, eyes heavy as the story neared its end. “The End of Days…Zodiark bein’ ‘round helped keep the Source shrouded in aether. Aether can resist dynamis if it’s thick ‘nough – s’why the first Final Days only affected the Ancients’ magic. They were too aether dense to be hit directly. But since the people of our star are sundered, their whole forms are at risk. Now, though, we can be reached. And we have.”

A’kihiko sighed beside her after a minute of silence.

“Well. Just another day for the Warriors of Light, eh?” He nudged her. “You got all the pieces we needed, Mei. I wish I’d been there with you, but it wasn’t meant to be. Literally. I’ll be here for the rest of it, though. And we’ll figure this shite out, one way or another.”

“Aye, I know.” Her brother was so simple sometimes. Simple in a way that was comforting and resolute; almost like he knew how things would be, even though he didn’t.

She wondered if Azem was like that, too.

“So, what ‘bout the home front? You said the others are elsewhere? Why’d you end up back in Sharlayan?”

“Got grounded,” A’kihiko smirked. “Got a wee bit reckless and nearly blew up. S’long story that’d only make your hair more white. Just know I recovered fully and am ready to go back into battle.”

Meiko put down her burger once more and immediately swatted at him.

“Fuckin’ menace! Blown up!? Gone for a few days and that’s what you do!? I’m never leavin’ your side again! And they had to send you back to Krile, ooh, Hiko –!!”

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 9: Friable

“Dia, could I ask you a favor?”

“When have I ever said ‘no’ to you, Tataru?”

“Fair point”, Tataru replied as she placed her hand in her pocket and revealed a small crystal trinket in her palm, shaped like a sun, about an ilm tall. “I need to leave for a bit, but I don’t want to leave this alone, nor would I care to lose it because it fell out of my pocket. Could I trouble you to hold onto it for me?”

“This is the least troublesome thing I’ve been asked to do in a long time. Of course I’ll take care of it for you.” Dia took the sun-shaped trinket with her finger and thumb and lifted it close to her face for a better look.

“Thank you, Dia! I owe you for this!” Tataru waved at her and sauntered out of the Rising Stones, leaving Dia to marvel at the inanimate object for a while before placing it within her inventory.

“You know, you ought to learn to say ‘no’ sometimes”, a gruff voice commented aloud. Estinien sat at the table in front of Tataru’s desk, giving a wry smile. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Wyrmblood?”

“Means you run yourself ragged for them already. When do you put your foot down?”

“You don’t say ‘no’ to Tataru Taru.” She sat down across from him. “It’s one of the unwritten rules of the Scions. You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“Why is that an unwritten rule?”

“Consider it like this; Tataru has watched her friends be murdered and kidnapped before her very eyes and nearly died herself, she was forced into exile alongside Alphinaud and I after that godsforsaken banquet, and she helped me fight a giant turtle man in Hell’s Lid. All this, she’s done and kept the Scions afloat, which was rather difficult when the majority of us were across the rift in the First. None of us would be here without her keeping all the things that would distract us from our duty away from us. If she needs something, I’m damn well doing it.”

Estinien wore a perplexed look on his face. “There’s a couple of scenarios in there that I’ll need you to explain.”

“All in good time. The point is, never say ‘no’ to Tataru, ever. She’s done and seen too much. She can have anything she wants.”

“You can’t always say ‘yes’ to people, or they’ll expect further agreement from you.”

“Good? That means they trust you.”

“That means they think you’re a doormat.”

Dia scoffed at the notion. “This is also my place of employment. What about when you were ordered to do something as a Temple knight? You couldn’t have been able to say ‘no’ to your commanding officer.”

“The Scions are not a military, as I recall. At any rate, are you implying the coinkeeper is your commanding officer?”

“As good as, if not better. Have you ever tried saying ‘no’ to her?”

“I have said no to her.”

An evil curl of her lip began to form into a half-smirk. “And weren’t you chased around Kugane for your efforts?” Estinien darted his eyes away with a scowl. “And then ended up saying ‘yes’ to taking down Black Rose facilities anyways…and then to becoming a Scion?” Estinien growled under his breath. Dia leaned back in her chair and pretended to hold a book. “Or was that in your day planner?” She started a pale imitation of the man. “10am: Brooding. 11am: Jump a million malms in the air. 12pm: Destroy any Black Rose facilities I see. 1pm: Become a Scion of the Seventh Dawn.”

“Don’t you have a crystal to watch?!” he retorted.

“I do, yes”, she reached into her inventory and opened her palm in front of him, “and I’m doing it well, see?”

There was a moment of silence, then the dragoon said, “That’s not the crystal” with a small bit of pleasure in his voice. She popped a very quizzical look and checked what was in her hand herself. A small sapphire charm was staring back at her.

“Shite! I was going to give this to Aymeric last night, and I forgot!” She stared into her inventory with no small amount of desperation. “Well, where in hells is the crystal, then?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the one who agreed to keep watch of it.”

She sifled through her bag frantically. “I couldn’t have lost it; I was sitting here the whole time!”

“Ah, Dia, Estinien, how are you faring?” G’raha greeted cheerfully, as she continued to search through her possessions while Estinien reveled in his schadenfreude.

A few footsteps later, a shattering sound rang the loudest that any crystal could ever make.

Dia’s eyes widened. She slowly stood up from her chair, took a few very slow steps, and delivered to G’raha a look that could strike fear into the heart of Halone. “G’raha Tia”, she rumbled in a very low voice, “Move your foot.”

G’raha slowly moved his head downward to look at his feet, then slowly returned it to meekly gaze into her fearsome visage. “I’m afraid to”, he replied quietly.

Her voice started to raise slightly. “Move your foot, or I’m moving you!” He almost hopped away, and unveiled the result of her carelessness- the shattered remains of Tataru’s sun-shaped crystal. She gathered as much as she could and dashed back to the table with G’raha.

“You were a crystal once! Do something!”

G’raha stammered, unsure how to reply to a comment like that. “I-I-I can’t! I don’t know what it looked like!”

“Do I have to draw you a picture?! It looked like the sun!” She brought her face closer to his. “You don’t understand. Tataru had me keep watch of it.”

G’raha’s eyes widened and he gave a grimace. “She’ll kill you.”

“Me? Oh, hells no. Us. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me, crystal boy!”

He gulped loudly. “All right, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe this is still fixable.” The two of them used their magic to lift up the shards, and start solving the puzzle. Behind them, Estinien stood and laughed under his breath. The distracting dragoon caused her to lose her focus, the shards dropping back on the table. She swung around and barked, “If you’re just gonna sit there and snicker at us, then bugger off.”

“This is too delicious to turn away.”

Dia groaned. “All right, look, I’m sorry I teased you earlier, okay? But when Tataru asks me to do something, I do it, and not because I’m a doormat! It’s because she’s been the one good constant in my life, and she’s stood by me from the very beginning. She’s my friend, and I’d do anything for her because I think she deserves so much more than I could ever give, and now I’m pissed because I couldn’t even do this for her!”

She turned around and finished with, “So you’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood.”

The two arcanists started their puzzle once again as Estinien slowly walked away from the duo.

“So that’s how you feel about our receptionist?” asked G’raha.

She let out a sharp, quick breath through her nose. “Tataru’s not just a receptionist to me. A normal receptionist would have quit the Scions the moment we were implicated in the Sultana’s murder. A normal receptionist wouldn’t have been secretly learning arcanima in her spare time and use it to help me fight. A normal receptionist wouldn’t have helped nurse the Scions as they laid there unconscious, and fret over whether they’ll ever wake up.” The last struck a pang of guilt in the Mi’qote’s heart. “A normal receptionist doesn’t casually learn airship engineering and build a new one from scratch!” She let out a light laugh after that one.

“She’s as much a Scion as the rest of us.” Dia went quiet for a moment as she started to fit some of the last few pieces together. “She’s the best of us, really.” G’raha gave a empathetic smile. “Have you ever told her this?”

She hesitated, then responded, “…no, not really. At least, not aloud.”

“I think she’d appreciate it if she heard it from you”, suggested G’raha, “It’s good to extend appreciation to those who work so hard for us, especially if it’s as passionate as yours. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you express emotions like that before.”

“Ha, Aymeric can attest to how hard it is for me to express my feelings. If anything, I should be more willing- at least these feelings are completely platonic.” G’raha gave a light chuckle.

The pieces of the puzzle had finally linked together and the sun shined back at the arcanists…

…except for one shard that made an obvious hole in the bottom.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me”, Dia complained. The two stared back at the scene of the crime in hopes of seeing it glimmer behind them. “All right, help me look for that last part.”

“Right.” The two took one step before they heard the sound of latches from the front door.

“I’m back!” Tataru announced gleefully. The two quickly spun around to look at her as she walked back with boxes in her hands. “I was picking up supplies from House Fortemps. Dia, can I have the you-know-what back?”

The two averted their gaze towards anything else and started sputtering, trying to figure out just what to tell the lalafell.

“Uh…” Dia started.

“Well, see…”, said G’raha.

“The thing is…”

The door to Dawn’s Respite had opened and closed and from the doorway. a gruff voice spoke out. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid.” The dragoon stepped out to stand beside Dia. “She handed it to me because I wanted to see it. Stupidly, I dropped it, and well…” Estinien turned around and saw the unfinished result on the table behind them. He gently picked it up and showed Tataru. “You can see what happened. These two came together to repair it.” Tataru took the stone from Estinien and gave it a good look.

“Hm, overall, a very good repair job”, remarked the receptionist nonchalantly, “Though I didn’t take you for one with butterfingers, Estinien.”

She moved to her desk to give it a better look under the lamp. “I’ll need to remedy this missing chunk here, of course.” Tataru noticed a glint of light from the corner of her eye and found the missing piece of the sun. “Ah, there it is!” She hopped off of her chair and picked it up from the floor before hopping back onto it. Gently, she picked up the trinket, and easily fit the last piece into the hole.

“There we go!” She held out the sun in front of G’raha and requested, “G’raha, you were a crystal once. Do you think you could bind this last piece for me?”

His ears drooped. “Why is everyone calling me that?” He obeyed and repaired the last piece of it to make the sun whole once again.

“Yay!” cheered Tataru, “Thank you, both of you. You two are far better at reparations than I am.”

“Than you?” repeated Dia curiously.

“Oh, of course. I’ve repaired this thing about five or six times myself. This is the best it’s looked in a while.”

G’raha and Dia shot their gazes to each other, completely bewildered, while Estinien smacked his head into his hand and shook his head, muttering the word, “Idiots.”

“Well, Tataru, if I may”, G’raha spoke up, “What exactly was it meant for?”

Tataru stayed silent for a moment, then finally sighed and said, “Oh, I might as well. I practically gave it to you anyway.” She took out a long gold chain and a display case the same shape as the sun trinket. “The plan is to encase it in this, a much sturdier glass, and attach it to the chain to create a charm necklace for Dia’s nameday. I trust Dia, so I asked her, and I hoped that maybe she’d forget about it by the time I would give it to her.”

Dia’s mouth went agape. “What?”

“It’s true!” Tataru jumped off the chair one more and walked in front of Dia. “You do so much for us. You’re always going in harm’s way for everybody, and I feel like you get so little for it. Sure, you get a bed, some gil and recognition, but that can’t be the only thing you should get from this. I don’t get to do much for you, and frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever have a proper gift to thank you, but at the very least, I want you to feel special on your nameday.”

Dia was tearing up. She couldn’t resist going down to her knees and wrapping Tataru in a proper hug. “I couldn’t ask you to do any more! You’re the best of the Scions!”

“Oh, Dia, I’m not a Scion!” Tataru exclaimed as she returned the hug, tearing up herself.

“Oh yes you are! You’ve been through too much with us. You’re a better Scion than I am. I’ve barely come by here since I moved into Borel Manor, and you’ve been working yourself to the bone here.” She unwrapped herself from Tataru and stood back up. “I can’t ever thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Tataru Taru, for going through so much with us. I owe you the best gift I could ever give you on your own nameday!” Tataru’s smile wavered, and she wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

“I’m going to find my goldsmith’s set, and I’m going to finish this for you, Dia Sito!” she announced through the lump in her throat, and ran back to the solar to look in storage for her kit.

Estinien gave his usual smile that was barely a smile, and G’raha told her, “Now you see what I mean?” She gave a smile of her own. “I do. There’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

She lowered her voice and near whispered. “When the hells is Tataru’s nameday?” G’raha pursed his lips while Estinien quickly removed himself from the situation by retreating back into Dawn’s Respite.

“Let’s find her calendar”, suggested G’raha.

[atamascolily]

Unicorn Chronicles, Book 4: “The Last Hunt,” by Bruce Coville

The Last Hunt is even longer than Dark Whispers--the hardcover edition runs to a whopping 605 pages (not including a multi-page character list), so it's a great example of Sequel Creep. Scholastic never gave it a paperback run, so Coville ended up buying back the rights and re-releasing it as smaller volumes (bringing the series to seven in all) to balance it back out a little. But still. It's a lot.

Coville says in the acknowledgements:

If I hadn't been painfully aware so many people were waiting for this story, I might have given up at any number of points along the way.So thanks, dear fans, it's been a long journey, and I literally could not have done it without you.

1) Awwww. 2) #relatable.

The Last Hunt is divided into sections based on time: 'Blood Moon Night," 'Day One of the Invasion,' and so on. The entire book spans about six days in all (five days + the Blood Moon), although there are lots of flashbacks and the last chapter opens with a time skip of several weeks. Suffice to say, this is one hell of a week. Each section is also captioned with a quote--sometimes from one of the Unicorn Chronicles, sometimes from Sun Tzu's The Art of War, which is unexpectedly plot-relevant.

We left off with Beloved and her army of Hunters invading Luster by ripping a hole in the Axis Mundi, the World Tree, with the intent to kill all the unicorns. The unicorns, led by the newly crowned Amalia Flickerfoot, must decide what to do next.

What follows: so many subplots, an inevitable quest, dragons, humans gonna humans, baleful polymorphs, dramatic battles, and a literal deus ex machina.

WHAT HAPPENS:

Lightfoot is right by the Axis Mundi when the gate opens, so he watches in horror as the Hunters come through. He tries to escape to warn the Queen, only to be pursued. To escape, he runs through the Gate to Earth, which for some reason burns people the second time around if they don't wait long enough (for reasons that make zero sense to me). Lightfoot finds himself in Beloved's keep in the Himalayas, and finds Cara's mother Martha asleep and pulls her out of the Rainbow Prison.

Fortunately, Martha was able to make contact with Ian and company long enough to learn how to pull them out, so she does. Lightfoot is afraid to go through the gate because he doesn't want to get crisped, so they wait until Beloved sends her troops after him, and then sneak in behind them. It turns out Fallon created the unicorns and is basically a deity.

Beloved has adopted a bunch of orphans -- girls abandoned by their families--whose purpose is to be unicorn bait. We meet one of them, Feng Quan, who is a total badass and a Sun Tzu stan, who is horrified when she witnesses a unicorn being slaughtered and jumps ship. Feng Quan runs into Belle, who has been haunted by the Whisperer (who knows Belle wants to be Queen) and convinces the skeptical warrior to take her to Amalia Flickerfoot.

Meanwhile the Geomancer M'Gama has been captured by the delvers, and Rocky and his reunited cove search for his teacher, the wizard Namza, who is turned to stone and having a lot of flashbacks. They eventually join up and work to stabilize Luster, which is devastated by increasingly severe earthquakes as  Beloved's gate is destroying the Axis Mundi and thus the entire world.

The queen sends Cara on another quest, this time to beg the dragon Grammaug for aid. (IDK while Amalia doesn't try to get all seven dragons, but okay, fine, whatever.) This time, it's only Cara and Medafil, because everyone else is busy. Cara encourages her grandmother to "think like a human" to outwit Beloved, which Feng Quan seconds when she arrives.

Grammaug turns out to be a dragon who turned into a human (it's complicated) and came to Luster because she was basically allergic to the world that all the other dragons went to when Bellemore opened THEIR gate. I thought that her story dragged on a little long, but it does eventually turn out to be relevant, since we are introduced to Transformational Magic, which can be moved around from person to person. Watch this space.

Hunters are looking for Cara, using special "blood trackers" that cannot be fooled, because Beloved wants her for unspecified reasons. Thomas the Tinker is also on his own quest to pick something up at the Queen's behest. The centaurs are having drama of their own as well. Ian tries to track Cara and gets captured by the delvers and taken to the king, who sends him to Beloved.

Grammaug agrees to help, but they are intercepted by the hunters on their journey back and Cara encounters Elihu, the mysterious "friend" Fallon has been searching for, who transforms her into a unicorn in order to lure the hunters off the scent.

Amalia and Feng Quan come up with a plan and send Grammaug to deliver a message, lying to the dragon about the details to mislead Beloved. Grimmwold summons the Queen's Players as part of the plan. Cara runs into Fallon, who reveals that Elihu created Luster, and was banished from the gods' realm because of it, and Fallon came down with him. Grammaug persuades Firethroat to join the battle; Firethroat is very pro eating humans, and agrees. The Whisperer uses Martha Hunter's anger about her mother to try and turn her against the unicorns.

Everyone converges on the Axis Mundi before the battle. We learn that a deity called Allura was responsible for sending the story of the Whisperer from the Chronicles and giving it to the centaurs and she made the Squijum. Like Fallon, she is searching for Elihu. Cara reveals her true identity, and reunites with her mother, who rejects the Whisperer.

Fallon summons the Whisperer and fights it to the death (Fallon's doesn't take). The group pieces together that the Dimblethum is Elihu--he returned to his true form when he betrayed Luster by helping Beloved with the Gate, only to revert back when he used his magic on Cara--and they must bring him back since he's the only one who can save Luster.

The Queen's Players stage a performance and Thomas produces a cockatrice who starts turning Hunters to stone. The dragons shoot flames, and the unicorns attack. Rajiv frees Ian in the chaos. Moonheart dies in the charge. Beloved is perplexed by the Whisperer's absence, and the centaurs and delvers arrive to join the fight. The Hunters flee back to Earth. The Axis Mundi splits in half and the dragons try to hold it together temporarily.

Cara attacks the delver king, who is trying to murder the Dimblethum, and the delver king falls into a conveniently opened hole in the ground and is swallowed up forever. Fallon uses transformational magic to swap places with Elihu so that Elihu can fix the tree. Elihu can't hold it alone, so Allura helps and both are swallowed up by the repaired tree. Graumag dies.

Beloved, believing Cara to be dead, takes Martha hostage and taunts Team Good. Cara reveals herself and Beloved begs for death. Cara tries to heal her and fails and Beloved dies.

Rajiv joins the Queen's Players. Cara is still a unicorn and no one can turn her back, but everyone's okay with it? The surviving Hunters are put to sleep and woken one by one and given the choice of staying in Luster or returning to earth; Feng Quan and Belle work with the maidens. The new Dimblethum and the Squijum visit the Axis Mundi every night to mourn their fellows and M'Gama and Namza are still in comas and we never learn their ultimate fate. Firethroat is in mourning and refuses to talk to anyone.

HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT:

"meh". So much happens and it's extremely epic, but I only care about half the characters, and the rest is just tedious. The whole deus ex machina thing could have been interesting, but wasn't--I could deal with ONE god running around but three was pushing it. The Dimblethum being Elihu was fine, but Fallon and Allura on top of that was too much. I would have preferred Grimmwold stepping in with a legend that allowed them to piece the answers together or something--not this.

It was hard to tease out what was relevant and what was a red herring (Felicity in the Rainbow prison, the Blind Man, etc). Lots of new characters, but I felt like the old characters were already underused - I wanted to see much more of Thomas and Grimmwold, for instance. Feng Quan, however, is absolutely awesome and I love her.  She and Belle are perfect together.

Cara ends up staying a unicorn was something I definitely did not see that one coming. Which makes Cara/Lightfoot the strongly implied endgame ship, which is just NOT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING WHEN I STARTED THIS SERIES, THAT'S ALL. They barely have any time together at all in this, even at the end, which makes me sad. Likewise, all that Lightfoot/Belle stuff never gets addressed.

IDK why Jaques keeps giving speeches about how he doesn't care if he and Cara are related by blood - they seem to be more for Cara's benefit than any character development/change.

Lightfoot's first glimpse of Earth (which he has never seen before) is incredibly poignant. So is his wandering around the deserted castle and struggling without hands. I wish he and Cara were able to discuss this, but NOPE, there is no time for discussion in this entire book, sigh.

The whole business about only going through the portal once in a given time period makes zero sense to me, especially given the established worldbuilding. It feels so contrived. Likewise, Belle and Martha are tempted by the Whisperer, which doesn't really go anywhere for either of them?

I don't know why Elihu smashes the amulet to transform Cara if there's this whole transformational magic thing going on. I still don't really get how that works.

I am also annoyed that Fallon deals with the Whisperer instead of the unicorns. So much for the unicorns "embracing their own darkness" and coming to terms with the fact that they screwed up in their ambition to be perfect.  What a wasted opportunity.

Also, it's book four, and we're only NOW finding out there's a prophecy that a scion of the hunters and the unicorns is the only one who can destroy Beloved?? Seems like we needed that earlier. We knew Beloved wanted Cara, we just didn't know WHY until the last possible minute. [Also, who told her that and why??] Without the Whisperer, Beloved is pretty helpless, which annoys me--I wanted her to be a villain in her own right.

Coville is very clear that Beloved tortures Ian, but like, only emotionally, because this is a kid's book, and that Elihu and Fallon are Definitely Not Gay For Each Other, which annoys me. (Coville is generally sympathetic towards queer folks; I really enjoyed his short story "Am I Blue?" which is about a literal fairy godparent and a working gaydar, so this was disappointing.)

The whole subplot with the Blind Man borrowing Ian's eyesight goes absolutely nowhere. I thought the Blind Man was going to play into the Luster drama somehow, but no, he's just some random magician who uses his deal with Ian to blind him at inopportune moments for reasons of his own that are never explained. WTF. This is one reason I hate Ian's subplot so much!!

Likewise, Martha seems cool, but her genuine beef with Ian, Beloved, and Ivy/Arabella get smoothed over and ignored because there's just zero time for anything in the midst of the chaos. Which is too bad!

The fact that the Squijum is the personal favorite creation/messenger of a god is just hilarious to me. Doesn't mean he isn't annoying af, though.

I WANTED ALL SEVEN DRAGONS AHHH.(though apparently there’s a secret eighth dragon no one talks about??WHAT???)

I think I'd be more okay with it if there was more time at the end to see the characters react and reflect--there's only one chapter, and it's not nearly enough. Is Lightfoot still Prince or is the Cara the heir now that she's a unicorn? How do THEY feel about that? That's another subplot from the previous books that just didn't go anywhere, and it bugs me.

(I was convinced Beloved was going to wake Martin Hunter from his sleep and have him lead the attack--like a reverse King Arthur--and I'm SO MAD THAT DIDN'T ACTUALLY HAPPEN...)

Also the fact that Cara has to mercy kill someone at the climax of not one but TWO BOOKS in this series... damn. I’d like to see some more reflection and thought about this after the fact.

Also, the whole thing with the delver-unicorn connection -- what kind of relationship are the two species going to have moving forward? RADIO SILENCE. What the hell did the other dragons think was happening during all this and why didn't they help/investigate? Are the Hunters going to stage a counterattack or disband now that they've lost their leader? Are the unicorns going to return to Earth or will it continue to be just the Guardian of Memory?? There are so many things that are just left hanging, and while MAYBE Coville will write another book to address these issues (it's happened before!) I am grumpy because I WANT TO KNOW, DAMN IT.

I had hoped on re-read I'd feel better about this, but I don't. I get to the end and I think "why?" which is not a great feeling to have. IDK what exactly I expected from this series--it definitely delivers in some ways, and in others, it totally falls short. I’m still impressed Coville managed to finish and it’s not entirely his fault that the results didn’t match up with my expectations, but it’s still sad that older!Me isn’t more excited about the end results.

*sigh* Maybe older!Me will buckle down and write a fix-it fic or two to make younger!Me happy. Currently, the only Unicorn Chronicles fic on A03 is a complicated crossover between LOTR and various other media featuring a human!Lightfoot, which I probably will never read, but it makes me happy to know it exists. FFN has more stories, but this was never a popular fandom, so the field is wide open for anything I want to do with it (more so than usual). Also, it seems I wasn't the only person of a certain age imagining self-insert fic in this universe, which is oddly reassuring.

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty: A roll of the dice

Day Nineteen -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-one Leveilleurs were not gamblers by nature. Quite the opposite, going by the actions of the most recent generations. Even Louisoix in his final moments had calculated the best way to attempt to save who he could. Just because it didn’t work out the way he had intended did not mean that he put much stock in something as ephemeral as luck. 

That being said, Alphinaud concluded that he was going to need to heavily rely on that force if his plan to explore the innards of Eulmore had any prospect of working.

“We’ll have a better chance of exploring the city if I just take one of you.” He was saying to the Warriors of Light. “One assistant to an artist is expected. Two is a bit much, I’m afraid.”

“You mean two will make you seem like a rich snob and not like someone trying out to be a servant, huh.” Lara remarked with a grin. Roger chuckled and nudged Alphinaud’s arm with his elbow. 

He rolled his eyes. Even after what felt to him like a year away from them, he had quickly gotten back into the swing of friendship with them both. It was similar to interacting with Alisaie, with the added benefit that neither Roger nor Lara had a wealth of embarrassing moments from his past to draw from. The only “ammo” they had came from the first impressions he left with them, made long before he’d proven to the other Scions (and himself) that he was more than capable of breaking the mold his parents had tried to fit him in.

But that was neither here nor there. 

“If you’re quite done…”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” 

He folded his arms and carefully considered them both. “How good are either of you at acting?”

The Warriors gave twin winces. Well that was worrisome.

“Perhaps acting was the wrong word...which of you is better at lying when the opportunity arises?” 

“Lara.” “Me.” 

They spoke over each other, though both indicated Lara as they did so.

“Roger is very obvious when he lies.” She clarified, then turned to him. “Tell me the sky is blue.”

“Wh-what? No, it’s a bright white-ish color. Nothing around here’s blue other than you and Alphie.” Roger rambled before the revelation hit. “Oh. That’s what you were doing.”

“See?” 

“Point very much taken.” Alphinaud ignored the nickname, though not without a tinge of pink to his face. “I don’t think I’ll need my assistant to demonstrate their art skills, and the whole point would be that you would go searching for clues whilst I distract the citizens. Which of you is best at stealth?” 

Again, they grimaced. Lara indicated at Roger’s bulky plate armor before gesturing at her own stylish yet functional leather. “You can hear him coming from a malm away. That’s even before he gets panicked about getting caught.”

Roger frowned. “Hey I’ve snuck up on you before!”

“While I was distracted.”

He maturely stuck his tongue out at her before returning to the conversation at hand. “I’m better at finding things than Lara is, though. You wouldn’t believe how many times she thought she lost something when it was just in a slightly different place than it was before.”

“Hey!”

“I’ve found most of the clues we’ve had to look for in the past too, you know.”

Before Lara could come up with a rebuttal, Alphinaud interrupted again. “That reminds me, we shall be disguised to better play up the part. Rest assured, Roger, your armor won’t cause any problems so long as you’re not wearing it.”

He huffed a sigh then rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’ll feel pretty exposed, but no one in Eulmore should attack...right?”

“Not if we’re careful and luck is on our side.” The Warriors of Light stared at him. “What is it?”

“I think I’ve now seen everything,” Lara commented. “First Ali mellowing out in the desert--”

“At least a little bit,” Roger nodded. 

“Now you saying that you believe in luck of all things.”

He couldn’t help it. A chuckle left him before he could stop it. “A lot changes in a year, even if our physical appearances haven’t. To answer the question you have yet to ask: I’m certain that luck must play a role in our lives on some level, for all of us Scions are quite fortunate that our souls weren’t lost in being summoned to the First.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re about to get into gambling. I don’t think my heart could take it.” Lara dramatically clutched the spot above where said organ was located.

Roger’s gaze was distant. “The Gold Saucer wouldn’t ever be the same…”

“Even if there were an equivalent to that place on the First,” Alphinaud turned his eyes to the sky with a huff. A fond smile continued to play at his lips, completely ruining his annoyed expression. “I’m not about to go into this without a plan. I’m simply stating that luck plays a key factor here. And you’ve gotten us into a tangent again.”

“Well if you wanted to know who was best at tangents…” Lara began, though she let the sentence drop with Alphinaud’s narrow-eyed stare.

“Back to the topic at hand, I have my final question: If you were not chosen, how would you best occupy your time while awaiting our return?”

This one gave a more serious pause to the Warriors of Light. Roger was the first to speak. “I...don’t know, actually.” He gave a shrug. “Maybe there’s people in the towns with monster problems I could help fight? Other than that, I’d pretty much be twiddling my thumbs the whole time.”

Lara looked grim, her thoughts clearly taking a far more dark turn. “There’s so many people in Gatetown that barely take care of themselves. They just eat Meol and wait for the next opportunity to try to get in the gates. And beyond that, there’s all the people in Stilltide who are actively working but with barely anything to their names.” Her jaw set. “I’d offer my services as a healer and a Culinarian to anyone who wants them. It wouldn’t be much, but even a little bit of relief can help the people stay strong for longer.”

Well, that cleared things up.

Alphinaud put a hand on Lara’s shoulder. “You’ve already made your decision, but I will say this anyway. Stay down here and help those in need. I’ll take Roger with me to Eulmore.” 

She looked startled. “But--”

“You can pretend you don’t know how to speak, yes?” He directed the question at Roger. “At least insofar as getting ourselves in the doors and to the clients?”

“Uh, sure.” He looked relieved. “So long as you’re doing the talking, that’s fine by me.”

“Very well, then.” Alphinaud reached into his pack and retrieved the commoner’s clothing. “Change into these and we’ll be on our way.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go? I could--” He patted her shoulder and shook his head.

“A year may have passed from my perspective, Lara,  but I know you both. If you know you could help someone and you had to walk away from them when there was a choice otherwise, you would be eaten up by guilt.” She looked away from his earnest expression, biting her lip. “We’ll meet you in Stillwater when we’re finished inside.”

After a long moment of silence, Lara nodded. “If you two aren’t back within two days, I’m gonna storm the city myself.” She finally was able to meet his gaze with a smirk that was almost believable. “Trust me, Eulmore won’t know what hit it.”

“You don’t have to ask for me to trust you, I already know they’ll never see you coming.” With a final pat, he turned to Roger. “I’ll meet you in Gatetown once you’ve changed.” Then he turned on a heel and walked into the ramshackle town. 

There was only one try to be had. Success or failure rested on this deception being accepted long enough for him and Roger to find out what they needed to know. His family weren’t gamblers, but there was only one way forward and that involved luck itself.

He changed into his own set of commoner’s clothing, collected Roger, then rolled the proverbial dice. 

As luck would have it not only was his story believed, but the Warrior of Light was allowed inside as well. Alphinaud hoped that said luck would hold, if just a little bit longer...

[karoiseka]

#15 Ache

((Dialogue in the first part is snagged directly for the most part from the game, but the rest tis mine own.  Pretty much just a re-hash of emotions and extra tid-bits of lore of what Karo was doing with all of this.  This got a little more away from me that I thought, but I’m happy with it. ^_^  Obviously, MAJOR 5.3 spoilers!!!))

“I concede, I may have over-exerted myself,” G’raha gasped a little from the Tower’s floor where he had fallen after defeating Elidibus.  Karo’s heart was racing--not only from the battle she had just finished, the adrenaline singing in her veins, but from the final goodbye of her--well, whatever Elidibus was to her now.  Now, the one that held her heart was transforming before her very eyes into a part of the very Tower that was so instrumental to them both.

“Steady now, and listen.  I told you before that I had a plan, and that when all was said and done, I would ask a favor of you.”  The Bard maneuvered herself beside him, sitting him up and holding his now both crystal hands in her own that desperately were clutching the spirit vessel.  “We have averted the Eight Umbral Calamity.  Found a way for everyone to return to the Source, and… last but not least, we have secured the future of all the people of Norvrandt.  We have won, my love.”  He was squeezing her hands gently, eyes shining, even when gasping for breath as she could watch the crystal creeping over his body slowly.  He reached up to run his fingers gently down her cheek, cupping her face and leaning against her forehead.

“So I hope you’ll forgive me this moment of selfishness.  And… while I wouldn’t want you to feel obliged…” Karo snorted and cut him off with a kiss before letting him continue.  He smiled against her lips and continued on, “Promise me you’ll take me on your next adventure.  A journey.  Together.  That’s all I ask.”  Karo’s voice caught in her throat as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“Raha--” her voice cracked as she took a deep breath.  “Of course--you know that’s all I’ve wanted as well,”  nuzzling his ears he sighed contentedly as she continued to try and hold back all the emotion she was feeling.

“If I were to tell you that this isn’t the end--that we will meet again--would you believe me?”  His voice was soft, but insistent and confident that he spoke true despite what was in front of their eyes.

“I have to--” whispered almost too soft for him to hear, she nevertheless looked him in the eyes and nodded her agreement.

“Thank you.”  He nodded once as well and released his hold of his shining star to pull his hood up one last time--though thankfully not hiding his face away from her.  She scowled at the look, but stepped back to let him get to his feet, somehow knowing this was something he needed to do for himself.  His spirit vessel, the brilliant red portion already glowing clutched in her hand, she watched and listened as he found a spot to stand.  He knew this was it as the crystal crept up even further along him--robe and all.

“My love.  With you, my mind and memories shall travel to the ends of the world and beyond.  But in this place shall my body stand immovable.  May it serve as an undying promise, not only to those who looked to me for leadership, but to any soul who has known despair, that hope is everlasting.”   G’raha Tia planted his staff firmly, Xande’s throne towering behind him.  One last time, Karo threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, cupping the back of his head as they shared what they knew was one last moment here on the First.  Stepping back finally she took a deep breath and held out the spirit vessel.  It was time.  As she looked down it started to glow, burning from the inside with an intense light and Aether she could practically feel.  Sapphire eyes raced up to meet his ruby--now glossy as the husk smiled blankly as the crystal finally overtook him.

Her own feet planted barely two fulms from his own, she curled her entire upper body around the warm spirit vessel, holding it to her heart.  It pulsed warmly against her as she took gulping breaths, trying to come to terms at least enough to step away.  Not much longer, she could hear the frantic footfalls of her found family and shouts of her and G’raha’s names echoing from the doorway to the tower.  The scions skidded to a stop behind her as they saw the Crystal Exarch--now the truest description of his name with the Warrior of Light and Darkness still at vigil in front of him.  Thancred was the first of the Scions to let go of his shock, and went to Karoiseka, wrapping himself around her from behind.  He could finally see the spirit vessel glowing in her grasp from his vantage and a deep sigh of relief escaped his lips.

“We’ve got you kitten--and you’ve got him.”  Karo finally spun around and let her tears fall as she let Thancred hold her up as she sobbed into his jacket.  Her heart ached, but she had to keep hope--that hope that he gave her that she cradled so carefully.

-------------------------------------------------------K

The bright stars of Amh Araeng beat down on Karo’s head.  She had finished visiting with Alisaie and Haldric, and had hurried down to Nabaath Areng before Thancred and Ryne got there.  She wanted to allow them their own time, but also had wanted to share the site of her last conversation with Mifillia with G’raha.  Scouting from above  she didn’t see the pair so she landed her borrowed Amaro in the shade of the flood.  Alisaie had a good idea of giving Raha a last tour of the First--maybe take him to a place or two he hadn’t been before.  He had always expressed interest in seeing the frozen wall of the flood up close, the sparkling wall looking almost like ice above the desert.

“Haldric is getting better,” Karo narrated to the crystal in her hand as she walked the platform where she had said goodbye.  “The empty is not quite as empty, and people are feeling the joy of the night’s sky.  Your hope is contagious even out here, m’love.”  Kneeling at the center of the circle she said a prayer--for those they had lost and for those they could yet save.  A smile danced across her lips as the wind whipped around her in a warm embrace, skittering off across the dunes.  Time to take to the sky once more and head to Eulmore where Alphinaud was certain to be getting a teary goodbye.  

-------------------------------------------------------K

Having said her own goodbyes to the Chai family and promised to see Alphy back in the Crystarium, she looked out onto the water from the cliff high above the city.  It wasn’t far from the place she had found G’raha napping before storming Mt. Gulg and talked about the adventure that she was now starting with him.

“It’s a shame you came here really only to berate Vauthry.  The city isn’t too bad now that they’re working on turning things around,”  The sky was clear and Karo realized she was scanning the horizon for Ardbert’s home island.  She could feel him laugh at her, knowing that it was well out of eye site range, yet tinged with a feeling of affection for thinking of him nonetheless.  Turning, pretending to be miffed at her Warrior soul, she continued to chat with Raha.  “You talked about riding the Eternal Wind here on this very cliff, and soon we shall fly across them back home.  Then the true adventure will start,” her blue-black hair was being whipped by the wind making her crystal hair tassels chime as she clung to that hope as her soul pulsed in an embrace lending her strength to carry on.  Beneath the waves she knew she had to dive before going to find Uriangier in the home of the pixies.

-------------------------------------------------------K

Waves crashing high above her head was the only sound in the depths besides her own footsteps echoing in Amaurot’s halls.  Occasionally she’d see one of his shades gliding on to one purpose or another, but she let the star-lit trees and arches light a random path as she wove the streets aimlessly.

“You didn’t get to see much of the city, did you?” rhetorical as the question was, she knew that Emet--Hades--had kept his prize locked up away from where she could have stumbled across him before she turned into the Lightwarden he thought she would.  It had been a near thing looking back, nearer than she liked admitting.  Phantom hand on her shoulder, she could feel Ardbert’s solidarity with her.  I told you I cast my lot with yours.  We’re a team, hero- the whispered voice in her soul made her smile as she held Raha’s vessel to her heart once more.  “We saved you though, Raha, and you saved me in return.  I’ll paint a picture as vivid as can be when I spin this song for you, the one I have yet to write to remember than they once lived.  We all have to remember....” and hope continued to blossom in her heart.

-------------------------------------------------------K

Flowers waltzed around the wide meadows of Il Mheg and Karo walked up the pathway to the castle.  She had the sense to know whatever it was her Elezan friend had to say, that she probably wasn’t going to be in the mood for sight-seeing after.  Instead she decided to visit her Branch and let her say goodbye to G’raha as well.  The gigantic glowing wings of the castle sparkled in the sun and the stained glass windows glowed from within even in the middle of the day.  The city below was so clear under the water it was hard to remember that it wasn’t occupied by more than fish and Fuath.  

“Thank you for introducing me to Fe Ul,” a smile broke out thinking of how innocent that first meeting was in the markets of the Crystarium.  “As much as I kept forgetting to call on them, they always had a knack of getting me out of some of the worst trouble here,” Karo’s thoughts went back to the watchtower and the suggestion to learn more of the Crystal Exarch from the people he led. “Gonna have to try and keep this quick before Uri wonders where we are.”  With a theatrical spin and hope in her voice she shouted out to her Branch calling on them once more.

-------------------------------------------------------K

She had been right to do their goodbyes in Il Mheg before talking to Uriangier and Seto.  In a daze of overwhelmed emotions she had wandered into Slitherbough, and like the magic she wielded, Y’shtola renewed her energy with her antics with Runar..  Wishing the Hrothgar good luck, Karo wandered to the swamps edge before diving in again.  The ruins at the bottom of the lake were a good distraction for her historian, and she slowly pointed them out and their meanings one by one of the old Ronkan Empire.  Excitement rejuvenated, she then took him to the Raval and took in the murals of Amaurot, Hydaelyn and Zodiark once more.

“Wish you could have heard all our shock when he dropped that piece of information on us,” her sarcastic laugh echoed through the caverns.  “I think you saw enough of it when we relayed it back to you though, we couldn’t get back to the Tower fast enough.”  With one last contemplative look at the murals, she gave a nod, hope filling her voice again.

“Alright, enough of that, back to Ahm Araeng, we need to find Thancred and Ryne.  It’s time to go home.”

-------------------------------------------------------K

The Crystarium markets were abuzz as Karo picked up the trinket she had ordered from the jeweler.  She could tell the people of the city knew something was going on with all the Scions back in town, and word about what had happened with their Exarch.  There was just enough time for her to head back to her Pendants room and imbue it with the spell she had planned.  The spell required her to sing, and so she pulled out her harp and sat down at the edge of the window and after activating the first part of the spell with a tendril of aether, started to sing.  The song was one of hope, of the man from another world who had turned this new one into his home, caring for its people and leading them towards a better tomorrow.  Singing with all her heart and soul the sun slowly drew across the sky as she continued with every song of hope and inspiration she could remember.  Out of repertoire finally, she closed the second part of the spell and picked up the glowing pendant shaped like her harp.  She packed up her bags, shouldering them and headed back to the Tower.  Sneaking around the gathering, she headed up the stairs to the platform where she left her voice enveloping the crystalline form of the one who held her heart.  Hope surrounded them both as the ache in her heart finally melted away, and she headed down to bring them all home at last.

[alamhigyoooo]

AS PROMISED - talk to me about your OT3!! ♥ I wanna know it all!! Does it take long before they are all on board? How do Raha and Aymeric get into each other? Does it start physical or are there feelings involved quickly? Tell me about their dynamic with each other and with Hallura \o/

aHHHHHOOOOOOOOO BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYY EVERYONE STRAP IN FOR A LONG ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! g’raha x hallura x aymeric is HERE

sticking this under the cut because i’m about to unleash an essay on yall about my ot3 but read on if you wish to find out more about them...

spoilers for 5.3!!!

so immediately after bringing g’raha and the scions back to the source, hallura has a total breakdown in private about how suddenly she has to live with extremely deep love for two people with BOTH of those people now very present in her life (for anyone who doesn’t know i had an extreme crisis about hallura’s endgame ship which i detailed, in part, in this chapter’s comment section) 

to recap hallura’s love life until this point: she fell in love with raha and planned to propose to him before he locked himself into the crystal tower, and then during the events of heavensward started sleeping with aymeric as a coping mechanism. eventually feelings were admitted and they started seeing each other seriously in secret; hallura proposed at the end of stormblood and then they went public with their relationship after the ghimlyt dark. THEN hallura got summoned to the first and discovered her first true love who she definitely never stopped loving was alive and also was very much in love with her, and since then she’s been carrying a guilt over having feelings for two people and it’s been eating away at her

BUT YOU CAME HERE FOR AYMERIC AND G’RAHA’S ROMANCE...so let us begin :)

they actually get to know each other when hallura kind of goes awol on both of them; once raha was done convalescing (she stayed by him every day) hallura went back to aymeric and spent one night with him but was totally silent the whole time, and then the next day she was gone off to ghimlyt to deal with the threat of the sapphire weapon.

except she didn’t come back right after that, or after a few days, and only through the grapevine did either raha or aymeric find out that she’d then jumped over to gangos to help the bozjan resistance. aymeric actually took a trip to the rising stones in secret, where he was found by raha, and that was the first time they met each other...aymeric wasn’t sure what to think (i wouldn’t say he felt threatened but he was definitely uncomfortable) and raha was extremely embarrassed but secretly very enchanted by aymeric (catboy got MAD flustered over him he could 100% see why hallura would choose aymeric)

aymeric learned a long time ago from thancred who g’raha was, though i don’t think he realized how deeply hallura loved raha still, and when aymeric would pay visits to the scions post-5.3, alphinaud and alisaie filled him in on what happened on the first since hallura could never bring herself to, and piece by piece aymeric started to understand just how much hallura was probably breaking over her feelings

and meanwhile raha was dealing with his own internal struggle upon returning to his new body, wherein his more temperate crystal exarch persona was failing to overcome the more hot-blooded g’raha tia’s still-fresh feelings for hallura and in typical g’raha tia fashion he decided to do something extremely stupid and punish/restrain himself by ensuring he saw aymeric as much as possible to remind himself how he didn’t fit into the picture anymore...

it’s during this time (a few months i’d say) that they kind of just get to know each other...and i think honestly aymeric falls first? i talk a lil bit about it here; raha is super hopeful and positive and just everything that brings out the best in aymeric, and aymeric quickly understands just why hallura loved g’raha so much. he drinks big Respect Hallura juice, and even though it’s hard for him to admit, he agrees with her taste - raha is a wonderful person who has a lot of love to give, and pretty soon aymeric is like oh god. oh fuck. well. i guess we’re going in! (definitely inspired to be a little chaotic romantically because of hallura, but the chaotic bi energy was there to begin with) 

raha’s a lot slower on the uptake re: self-penance, but once aymeric sets his sights on wooing raha it’s over for the catboy...raha is too much of a romantic and too SWEET to not just freakin swoon over a tall elegant dark-haired man actively attempting to Get Him. like aymeric he is also very much approving of hallura’s taste, but unlike aymeric he also denies himself hope - so basically we just have aymeric courting (discreetly) raha; the other scions are kind of surprised to see hallura’s paramours getting along so well in her absence but hey man if it works it works and better that then to have them fight yo

but all this time hallura is GONE like she just....she’s gone lol

she only chooses to return to eorzea (a HOT minute later) to break off her engagement with aymeric because she was so so guilty about loving raha still - but she didn’t break it off to leave for raha. she’s determined to give up on relationships altogether and just be single for the rest of her life because she’s certain she’ll never get over either of them, but neither of them deserve to live in what SHE thinks is limbo while she fights her own feelings.

so surprise surprise when she returns and finds both aymeric and g’raha absolutely chilling with each other in ishgard at the borel manor and they’re both reading by the fireplace and she comes in and sees them and they’re both so so happy to see her, and her perfectly rehearsed rejection just evaporates from her mind and she tries to run away again because this has to be some kind of sick joke - 

in this ot3 i attribue most of the communication to aymeric, and he, while thrilled to see her again, straight up is like “no you sit down we’re having a talk right now” and she confesses on the spot she has to leave him and can’t be engaged to him because it’s not fair to him that she’ll never get over raha - which is ALSO a confession to raha that she still loves him (and let’s be real it was clear that she did but g’raha is a river in egypt called de nile and never let himself believe it)

there’s a lot of crying involved; aymeric is obviously upset because he doesn’t want to not be engaged to hallura, and he tells her on the spot that she can’t do that because that’s not fair, and all he wants is for them to talk to each other, and they’re both kneeling on the floor and he’s clutching her shoulders and that’s when raha just gently touches both of them and says he’ll just leave...it’s his fault they’re falling apart like this

and both hallura and aymeric both ADAMANTLY say “NO!” and latch onto him, and then all three of them are crying on the floor and there’s lots of apologies and none of them really know how much time has passed, but eventually they cry themselves out and it ends with hallura’s head in aymeric’s lap and she’s holding raha’s hand and aymeric and raha are sitting beside each other...raha is so exhausted he’s leaning against aymeric’s shoulder

and hallura breaks the silence after a while and says “so where do we go now?” because it’s very obvious that there is no going back to the way things were, and that’s when aymeric clears his throat and admits (with embarrassment) that he’d be open to trying something with all three of them

raha is like Excuse me? and hallura sits up bc what the heck has she missed, and aymeric then admits further that he’s caught feelings for raha and has even slightly been trying to court raha...much to raha’s embarrassment he’s like “you were WHAT? so i wasn’t just imagining it?”

and hallura is like...she can’t even be mad because a) that’s exactly her own dilemma and b) that’s also really hot,,, but while she would be happy to do it everything hinges on g’raha’s consent; and it takes raha a moment to process but honestly when presented with two open hands waiting for him (him, not just any third party) he cannot help but take them with a smile. and i think this is really important for g’raha because hallura and aymeric BOTH actively express interest in HIM, for who he is, there is room in the relationship that can only be filled by raha, and raha is someone who wants so very desperately to belong.

so of course he says yes, and that’s how the ot3 is really born. there’s some more talking about things - living arrangements, scolding hallura for ghosting them for like 3 months, what the heck are they gonna tell the scions - but eventually they settle on a three-way engagement of sorts, and they’re all going to have matching rings and other cute bs

they are very much founded on feelings first!!!!!!! hallura might be the biggest thot in the world who actively makes aymeric into a thot as well but to me there is no way they could have survived as a functioning ot3 if it was not based in emotion. raha is too in his head and aymeric is too much of a thinker for something purely physical to last, imo.

...that is not to say, however, that they aren’t physically compatible - they are most definitely physically compatible. (for content sake i shall keep this post sfw but if you were to send an nsfw ask...i’m just saying i will definitely answer 👀)

dynamic wise (and this is where i get meta, the characters fall into these roles without necessarily realizing it themselves LOL i love being the writer) the ot3 can be summed up like this:

aymeric: the thinker (left brain LOL)

raha: the dreamer (right brain LDKJGLSKJD)

hallura: the heart

raha & aymeric represent the rationality of the relationship and do a lot of talking, a lot of planning, and a lot of smiling together. they’re the leaders, so it’s in their nature to have a game-plan for things. raha inspires the best in aymeric: his enthusiasm is infectious and really stokes aymeric’s determination, and aymeric draws a lot of strength and inspiration from raha’s own knowledge as a leader that coexists with his belief that mankind is worth saving. there is an EXTREMELY healthy amount of mutual respect here, and these two are absolutely the “romantic looks over papers that they could honestly care less about” plus aymeric finds raha’s allagan nerding ADORABLE; raha is just absolutely smitten with how charming aymeric is and very much admires his determination to overcome the obstacles set against him, and how aymeric loves his people despite ishgard’s very prominent flaws.

hallura & raha represent the spontaneity of the relationship - they don’t let their feelings control them per se, but they’re the ones who really say “screw restraint” and push the relationship into the unknown - exploring new parts of the relationship, experiencing the world together, excitement for growth and change. these two are allergic to stagnation and are constantly striving to be dynamic (in my piece “fade” i touch on how i think raha’s controlled crystal exarch persona gives way to his younger, more carefree self, in a good way) and they serve very much as the relationship’s “light”, which is not to say that aymeric is not bright for them, but hallura and raha are more like the sun as aymeric is like the moon. these two are the “batteries” of the relationship and keep things exciting and fresh.

hallura & aymeric represent the confidence and assuredness of the relationship - they have spent a LOT of time together already and have a very good grasp on what they like, what they want, etc. they are both quite confident in themselves and they uplift raha from his insecurities to show him just how much he’s worth. when confronted with outside criticism or scorn these two are the ones who stand their ground; they have the experience to show for their commitment and they’re very much teachers in the way that raha is still a learner. they are also the comforters - aymeric is very good at soothing, and hallura is very good at talking someone’s ear off to help them feel better LOL these two are the romantically matured ones and they set the example for give and take of the relationship.

it’s not always perfect, there are definitely spats and each has their notable quirks. hallura is the fighter, and if she doesn’t understand something she’ll call it out or say something, and that can be a little abrasive; raha has a lot of self-confidence issues and has trouble vocalizing his needs, which leads to some miscommunications at the start; and aymeric has a tendency to ice people out when he’s upset and while he’s the logical one he is also the one who remembers stuff - THIS is the grudge holder LMAOSDKJFLLGLHSLDKFGLJ 

but all in all i think they balance each other out relatively well! i will admit that i worked really hard to find a dynamic that worked realistically for them - i was terrified of just slamming them together because it was “easier”. i told myself if i was going to write an ot3 i was going to do it justice, and besides the relationship dynamics are just that much more fun to write especially for someone like me who delights in exploring the details of every interaction LOL

i hope you enjoyed!!!! this got REALLY LONG god i am so sorry sdfklgljsldkfglj please always feel free to send me ot3 asks i will COMBUST and then write a dissertation in reply LMAO

[faelune-home]

FFXIV Write 2020 #9: Lush

(A/N: No WoL featured this time, instead I did an NPC focused piece. Then again, as a post-Stormblood piece, miqo!Fufu would probably be the most likely one in this timeline, but the WoL doesn’t even come up so it doesn’t matter.

So here’s another mourning piece, in similar vein to my piece for Minfilia posted pre-ffxivwrite. With Lyse in the Shroud. :’’) I had this idea a while ago actually, but this got me the spark to actually write it.

Given how open the prompts are, part of me wonders if I’m still on prompt here when I don’t use the specific word and I don’t draw a lot of attention to the word meanings a lot. :’D I tried to allude to the word here by focusing on the life in the forests of the Shroud, but idk if I still miss the mark there. But it’s good to get me writing anyway, which is the point.

Spoilers for end of HW patches at least for a character death

Word count: 1395

@ffxiv-writers)

The East Shroud had ever been so full of life. In the treetops, in the ferns, in the tangled bramble patch, even deep in the twisted forest of the sylphlands, the creatures ever stirred. It was almost hard to imagine that only a scant few weeks before, a vicious primal that could’ve ended it all had hung over the imperial castrum at the forest’s edge.

That end never came, if only due to the acts of one man.

Near Amarissaix’s Spire, Lyse stood silent, staring at the metal walls of the castrum, so alien compared to the greenery surrounding it. So alien, yet so familiar to herself, with all the time she’d spent as part of the Scions fighting the Empire. Under another’s name…

She shook her head of the thought; she missed her sister greatly, of course she did. But then maybe the way she’d handled it hadn’t been the healthiest. Even so, Papalymo and the other Scions had indulged her odd grieving method. In a way, as much as she maybe could’ve been set straight long before now, she’d still come out okay. Maybe?

“Oh Papalymo,” she sighed, “sometimes I wish you were still here. Even if it wasn’t to have you help me - even if I still feel like I need the extra hands, especially running a whole resistance - at the very least...I want you to see how much I’ve changed.”

She smiled ruefully. “Of course, sometimes it feels like I haven’t at all. But I know I can’t just go crumbling when people need me. And at least I have Naago to keep me right...but it’d be nice if you could do it too.”

But there was no-one to respond to her. The only sound in the forest was the buzzing of insects and the rustling of the leaves. She sighed again.

“H-hey, excuse me miss!” she jumped as a voice called to her; a hyuran man in a Twin Adder Private’s coat ran up to her, “I’m sorry miss, I-I’m gonna have to ask you why you’re here. Idle loitering an’ all.”

Lyse flinched. Had she really been standing there long enough to look suspicious?

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to be here this long or I would’ve told an officer or someone at the Hut. I’ll be on my way soon, if someone from the Reach doesn’t come shortly after me,” she told him, shuffling on the spot. His eyes widened.

“Hold on, you’re- I’m so sorry, Commander Hext, I didn’t realise it was you!” He bowed, embarrassment clear on his face.

“Oh, no no, it’s fine, like I said, I shouldn’t have been standing here without telling someone,” she spluttered, surprised that he recognised her.

“I-it should be alright for you to stay, I can tell my commanding officer you came ‘round. But uh- why are you here, if you don’t mind me asking? I figured if it was official business like, you’d have an entourage or you’d be in the city.”

“I...Well it’s nothing official,” she shrugged, then looked back at the wall, adding, “I was just here to pay some respects. I was almost done.”

“Your old partner?”

She started, eyes wide at the young man, to which he flinched again and said, “Sorry! I didn’t-”

“No, I don’t mind,” she said quickly, trying to calm the jittery soldier. Gods they were both so flustered at that point, somebody could jump and reach the trees quicker than any Ishgardian dragoon. She looked over his uniform again, spying the Third Class emblem on the arm. He was still only a new recruit. “I just didn’t expect you to know him, that’s all. How long have you been an Adder then?”

“Not that long, ‘fraid to say. I remember seeing you and the lalafellin man around the city as part of the Scions before I signed up. Heard he passed at some point during the raid on the castrum.” Lyse frowned, looking to the structure with a hard look in her eye.

“B-but I helped with taking back Ala Mhigo,” he said, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Hells, I was with one of the groups storming the city as well.” The woman gawped. He looked the same age as her, and barely a new recruit at that.

“Well, I’m surprised. Grateful but surprised,” she said. He gave his chest a beat with his fist, and said, “Was only happy to help, Commander.”

“Lyse,” she smiled, “Just Lyse is fine. I just didn’t think Gridania would want to send such a new recruit all the way into the worst of the fighting and risk losing a fresh soldier. Not that you probably aren’t capable but-” She stumbled, worried it would sound like she was dismissing him, but she stopped when he shook his head.

“Nah, you’re right. I’m as green as any leaf in this wood here, But I asked to go in. Me and the rest of my unit, sprouts the lot of us.”

“...why?”

He shrugged. “Ours isn’t a common opinion in Gridania, I’ll say that first. ‘Cos most folk are still bitter about the Autumn War, even if it were years ago now and barely anyone that took part back then is still around. Some few are, aye, but not a lot. But my comrades and I thought, ‘If the alliance can forgive Ishgard for not doing their part for so many years while focusing on their war with the dragons and still take them back, then we could do the same for Ala Mhigo. Let bygones be bygones and help them out now they need it most.’ And if we were needed most in the thick of it, then we were gonna be in the thick of it.”

“That’s a good sentiment,” Lyse smiled, “I’d say Gridania should be proud to have a soldier like you in their ranks. It’d be nice to have more good thinkers like you and yours.” She sighed.

“Gridania’s always had some problems, and it’ll take time to sort it out. But one step at a time, right? But then I could say the same about Ala Mhigo.” She looked to the sky, her mind flashing back to that night as the mimic of Dalamud hung in the clouds, holding fast to its draconic prisoner.

“That’s why I wish he could be here to see it all now,” she mumbled, almost forgetting her company.

“What was he like?” the soldier asked. 

A smirk crossed her lips. “He was stubborn as anything, and feisty. His tongue was sharper than any whip if he caught you saying or doing something ridiculous. I can attest to that right now.” She laughed, ignoring the prickling feeling at the corners of her eyes.

“But for all he said he was the no nonsense type, he could be lenient. Oh, he was lenient for a lot of things that he probably would’ve been snippy over otherwise. For every 10 silly questions I asked or stupid statements I said that he gave me grief over, there’d be another 5 things that he’d just let me have even if it was wrong or foolish or I should’ve known better.” Her words trailed off into a sob as tears flowed freely. In her mind she could almost hear a familiar voice chastising her for breaking down so easily in front of a stranger, especially with her new position.

To his credit, the soldier held out a handkerchief to her and said solemnly, “He sounded like a good man, Lyse.”

She nodded, taking the cloth and dabbing her eyes. “Yeah. He was a brilliant man. Brilliant and smart and ridiculously patient for someone that could blow up so quickly. He put up with me for so long.”

She sniffed, “Imagine, some brilliant scholar like him having a silly girl like me trailing around after him for years. Gods above, it’s a wonder anyone took us seriously.” Eyes dried, yet still watery, she handed back the handkerchief.

“Like I said before, I didn’t know him,” the man said, taking it back and pocketing it, “But from what you’ve said here, he would’ve been proud of the woman you are now. I feel pretty certain saying that.”

Lyse smiled again. “You know what? I feel certain enough to say you’d be right. He would be.”

[autumnslance]

Hey, I'm gonna need you to give us a short story with Thancred teaching Aeryn how to gunbreaker now, specifically through dueling and close melee range.

((You’re just trying to enable me and get some trope-ridden, indulgent fic posted, huh? Well joke’s on you buddy, I already have a tropey, indulgent draft, though it’s from Heavensward patch era, featuring grumpy Thancred, amused Midgardsormr, and definitely a sparring match. Now on Ao3. So is the follow up.))

——-

“You’re avoiding me,” Aeryn said before Thancred could walk away.

“No,” he answered. “I have been busy. As have you. All of us, preparing for Ser Aymeric’s grand tournament.”

“Then let’s prepare,” she said. “Spar with me.”

“Perhaps later–”

She crossed her arms and glared. “Why? You’re lounging, so please don’t tell me you’re currently busy. I also checked with Tataru.”

Thancred closed his mouth to bite back the ready reply. “Why do you need to spar anyway? We all know you are going to win. ‘Tis what you do.”

She caught the bitterness he tried to hide. “Not always,” she answered. They did not look at each other for a long moment. “Anyroad, I shouldn’t get complacent. And you’re the best sparring partner.”

“Am I?” he asked. There might have been a hint of acid in his tone.

“None better. Absolute taskmaster.”

He snorted and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. “Well fine, if you’re going to be flattering.”

They made their way through the gates and across the Steps of Faith, the wind whipping at their clothes and hair. Aeryn watched him.

“What?” He asked.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked. “After so many years in Thanalan, and you tend to wear lighter gear–”

“No,” Thancred said after a moment. “It is rather refreshing actually. And desert nights are chilly in their own way. Though I admit, I would not say no to an afternoon lounging in Vesper Bay’s square over crossing this bridge.”

“With overpriced orange juice from the Pissed Peiste?”

He did not reply, though for a moment it looked as if he might. He must have remembered he was angry, and wished to forgo banter. Aeryn suppressed a sigh.

“The tournament will be happening around here,” Thancred said as they reached the open plain beyond the Steps. The road stretched east and up toward Camp Dragonhead, clouds gathering over distant Xelphatol beyond the hills. Down to the west, she could barely make out the glint of Whitebrim’s towers.

“You will want to have a good idea of the ground,” he continued, crouching and peering across the open space. “Wouldn’t do to fall face first at some private’s feet because you tripped over a chinchilla’s burrow.”

“I think there’s a detail coming out to grade the area later today,” she said, drawing her rapier. “But that will just make it easier.”

“Hrmph.” He stood again, stretching as he did, then swinging his arms. “No doubt. Still; let us forgo magic for now. I want to see how you have worked on your swordsmanship these past few moons.”

“You’re sure you’re not cold?”

“I am limbering up,” he said, tone as cool as the air.

Aeryn shrugged. If he wanted to be that way. She was about to start her own stretches when Thancred suddenly dashed at her, blades drawn, making her bring her own up to meet them and immediately putting her on the defensive, forcing her back a few steps.

“Do your enemies announce when they’re ready?” He snarled, testing her defenses. He was mostly using his long Allagan blade, but she kept an eye on his smaller off-hand weapon; he had changed how he fought during his time in the wilderness.

Before, he had fought with a single sword, or matched short blades. His style had been flamboyant, even to the point of showing off, as a way to obfuscate his strikes and baffle his foes. As he pushed Aeryn across the clearing, she noted he still fought with flair and panache not found in most combatants–yet seemed more direct, less reliant on feints and misdirection than in the past. There was nothing wasteful in his movement, for all they flowed like a dance.

She could admit she was a bit envious.

And still on the back foot, godsdammit. She tried a parry Haurchefant had taught her, and gained back a few steps. A few quick strikes practiced with Lucia put Thancred on the defensive, and she caught him briefly grin.

“Mayhap your flirting across Coerthas has done you well after all,” he said, a sharp edge to the teasing.

“What?” Aeryn demanded. How dare he, he knew her better than—

The Echo’s warning came a moment too late as he spun away from her riposte, running his blade along the length of hers until with a flick of his wrist, her sword was caught, her arm twisted back as he stepped behind her, his offhand coming up to rest lightly against her throat.

“You’re easily distracted,” his voice rumbled low in her ear.

Aeryn turned her head to retort, but the words stuck when their eyes met and she was suddenly, intensely aware of being pressed against him, back to chest, their breathing heavy from the exercise and nearly in time with one another. They were close to the same height–he was only perhaps two ilms taller–so their faces were close, his brown eye strangely hooded and his lips were right there as he leaned in and gods why was she even thinking that…

They were close enough she could taste his breath, their lips barely brushing. Her eyes closed of their own accord, in anticipation of further pressure.

“…No,” he breathed, and she was suddenly spun, like when they used to dance to entertain the other Scions in that time Before Ul’dah.

Aeryn and Thancred stood in the snow, staring at one another. “That’s enough for today,” he said brusquely. “If you stay focused, you should do well enough against the Grand Companies.”

“Thancred…”

He turned away. “I apologize; that was an inappropriate distraction.”

She stared at his back for a long moment. Before he could turn his head to look, she cleared her throat. “Nothing to apologize for,” Aeryn said shortly. “All’s fair, as they say.”

“…Quite,” he replied, though sounded strange. “I believe I am rather cold after all, and will retire to the Forgotten Knight for some of Gibrillont’s mulled wine.”

She waited for him to add more, to invite her along, to offer to discuss whatever the seven hells that had been, but he walked on toward the gate. To be fair, though, she couldn’t quite manage to make those offers herself.

Aeryn watched him go, then continued to practice; not as effective as with a partner, but better than nothing, and she wouldn’t be returning to the city with him and the continued air of awkwardness.

“Thou art restless,” Midgardsormr’s voice rumbled from her left. Aeryn paused, looking over to see the small dragonet form of the ancient wyrm sitting upon a nearby stone.

“There is much to prepare for tomorrow,” she answered, returning to her drills.

“Yet there is spare time for courtship rituals?”

Aeryn fumbled mid-maneuver, nearly dropping her rapier. She blinked at him. “What? No! That was…we were sparring. Practicing, for tomorrow’s tournament.”

The dragonet tilted his head. “‘Tis not what it appeared, but mortals are strange.”

She only grunted a response and returned to her ready stance. Feint, riposte, zwerchhau…

“He is strong and skilled,” Midgardsormr continued, in a musing tone. “As I recall, such qualities are sought after, as mortals require physical mating to pass on–

“Midgardsormr,” Aeryn hissed–after stumbling again, her face on fire.

He flapped his tiny wings, and she swore he was grinning. “I was but making an observation, child, and musing on the differences between thy kin and mine own. Draconic mating is a melding of mind and spirit, rather than the flesh.”

“I am aware,” Aeryn said tightly, trying to not snap at the Father of Dragons. This was not helping take her mind off that almost-kiss. She was certain, too, the elder knew that.

There was a shift in the dragonet’s stance, and his deep black eyes now watched her closely, the hint of mirth faded. “Thou hath enjoyed the man’s companionship in the past.’Twould seem since his return, you have been at odds.”

Aeryn sheathed her blade; she was getting no further exercise in today. “…Yes,” she finally answered him. “‘Twould seem that way. I…failed to save the person he entrusted to my care, and then I failed to bring her back.”

Midgardsormr shook his head. “She but followed thy Mother’s call, and made her own choice. There was naught for thee to do upon the matter. Thou shouldst not blame thyself–Nor bear blame from others.” The last came with a slight warning growl.

“I…I don’t know if he does or not,” she admitted. “We’ve worked together, and he was honestly concerned when I was poisoned…And…” Her back pressed to his chest, his eye looking into hers, their lips not even an ilm apart. “…I’m likely imagining things, that’s all.”

That had to be it. A simple distraction, as he had said. She mustn’t read into it.

“Hrmph,” Midgardsormr rumbled. “How thy people have propagated when capable of such self-delusion is one of life’s great mysteries.”

She glowered at him. “Which of us is the expert at mortals, actually being one? You’re mistaken. Thancred is known for his flirtations and distractions; that is all it was. Naught more.”

The dragonet stretched, and made a motion almost akin to a shrug. “Thy protestations are noted,” he responded, before fading out in a puff of aether.

Aeryn rubbed her forehead. She could still sense his rumbling chuckle in the back of her mind. Once she was more or less composed–or at least no longer felt as if her face would set fire to the Gates of Judgment when she passed through them–she made her way back to the city.

—

What in the seven bloody hells had he been thinking?

Thancred ran a hand over his face as he nursed his mulled wine. The problem, of course, was that he had not been thinking. Caught in the rhythm of their sparring match, he had reacted on instinct, and she was right there and…

Inappropriate, he reminded himself. For so very many reasons. He knew at one point he had had a list, the first time he had bucked this ridiculous notion of an interest in the woman who had become their Warrior of Light.

There was one; the champion of the realm could certainly do better than a grizzled, magicless rogue.

There was another; since his misadventure in the Lifestream and being left in Dravania’s wilderness without magic, he now looked and felt closer to his actual age of thirty-two winters. Still young enough to do his job, but it seemed a decent gap against her twenty-six. She was even younger than–

That thought made him slug down a too-large gulp of too-hot wine. It helped focus the pain and gave an excuse for the tears threatening to appear as he coughed, waving away the bartender.

Aeryn had looked him in the eye and nodded when he had told her “whatever it takes” and yet…

That was not fair, and not part of the list, though he couldn’t help the anger, the grief, the shame at lying to F'lhaminn.

He retired to the small room in Cloud Nine that Tataru had rented for him. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, he found his mind wandering back to the sparring match. How Aeryn felt pressed against him, how she smelled, how her grey eyes had darkened and then closed as their lips nearly touched…Godsdammit.

He could always blame spending time alone in the wilderness for how easily distracted he was by a pretty woman, colleague or not.

That Aeryn had seemed willing did not help; it would have been easier if she had pushed him away, cursed at him, reminded him that she did not experience such base attractions. A voice whispered that did not negate a desire for intimacy, and there were those rumors of her and the knight. He told that voice to shut up as he rolled over. But his imagination continued, conjuring images of furthering that kiss, of pressing closer, his fingers tangling in her fine black hair, the taste of her…

The aftertaste of mulled wine on his own tongue remembered the bite he had smelled in the fallen cup at Falcon’s Nest, her lying on the floor as chaos reigned outside, and the feeling of his heart in his throat at the idea of Aeryn poisoned.

Perhaps that was why he was in such a strange mood, he decided. Fear for his friend’s life, even as he was still grieving Minfilia.

Satisfied, he turned his mind to a mummer’s breathing exercise, a trick to fall asleep quickly, forcing his mind to still so he could rest.

—-

((There’s a lemony solo-Thancred follow-up to this too.))

[novaeagle]

Y’Shtola x Casimir

Prompt: Y’Shtola falls asleep in Casimir’s lap while he’s talking to someone and strokes her hair like a cat. 

Y’Shtola found him on the steps leading up to the Exarchs office, talking with a few of the Crystarium residents. He was dressed plainly, in a half done button up shirt, and pressed slacks, his glasses perched precariously on his nose in the way that drove the Miqo’te wild because she was SURE that they were about to fall off his face. She was dressed differently as well, forgoing her usual Black Mage dress for a simple sweater, and jean bottoms, a much warmer attire for the oddly chilly land. Perhaps it was the fact that the Light absorbed all the heat, but it was much colder in Lakeland than it was in the Rak’Tika Greatwood. 

Casimir paused long enough in his conversation to shoot Y’Shtola a heart melting smile and a nod, before turning back and finishing his sentence. Y’Shtola didn’t mind, there wasn’t anything important for them to do just yet, and she wanted to take the time to spend a few moments with him, even if it was just to sit beside him as he spoke to the citizens. It was one thing that he had decided to do, just sit on the Crystarium steps and speak with the people, whoever approached him. Not many did at first, keeping a respectful distance from the Warrior of Darkness, but one day a group of children playing around wandered over, one brave soul asking him to tell them a story. Soon there was a crowd of more than just children sitting around him, adults too listening in rapt attention as Casimir spun tales of his exploits and his adventures in the Source and in Norvrandt. 

Now, groups of people came up regularly, many just wanting to talk about the weather, many wanting his opinion on items or ideas. He spoke to all of them freely, glad to put a smile on as many faces as he could, and happy to see the Crystarium grown and thrive in the absence of the Lightwardens and Sin Eaters. Today he had a small group, a few Elezen, a Miqo’te, and a Dwarf, surprisingly without her helmet on, when Y’Shtola walks over, sitting down beside Casimir and leaning a little on his shoulder. After one of the Elezen finished speaking, Casimir glances over at her, 

“Hey love, did you need anything?” Y’Shtola shakes her head, 

“Just wanted to come over and listen to the great Warrior of Darkness speak.” Casimir scoffs, rolling his eyes before reaching up and touching her nose with one finger,

“You and your silver tongue.” She narrows her eyes at his cheeky grin, before humming decidedly and settling back down on his shoulder as he turns back to the group. After a few minutes the Elezen pair say their farewells and leave, and the Dwarf runs off to get more alcohol, receiving a call from Casimir to bring him some as well. the Miqo’te stays, sitting cross legged a step down from Casimir, staring up at him as he asks, 

“So ya used ta be a Mystel as well? Wha’ happened fer ya ta turn into a Hume?”

“That, my friend, is a long story, so as long as you have time, I will talk your ear off about it.” The Mystel nods excitedly, and Casimir grins, launching into his story. Y’Shtola’s eyes begin to get heavy, the sun beaming down on her and Casimirs soothing voice droning in her ears making the woman yawn, sliding over and down a step to lay her head down on Casimirs lap as he spun his tale, talking of the many magical means by which his physical form changed. Her tail twitched at Casimirs touch, his fingers suddenly in her hair and running softly over her eyes, her body relaxing, and a purr or two escaping as his hands soothe her, making her fall slowly into sleep. 

Casimir glances down at the sleeping woman, his story over as both the random Myste and Giott the dwarf gaped at him. 

“By the gods, Casimir! I’m glad I grabbed an extra drink or thirty, that tale was wild enough to NOT be believable!” Casimir chuckles, 

“The stories are true, but a few names and places are left out, as they’d only bring more questions and pertain to where I and the Exarch came from.” The Mystel nods, a frown coming onto his face.

“Will... will you and the Exarch leave us?” Casimir shakes his head, 

“Not for good. I promise you, I will be back, and if I can help it, I’ll bring everyone back with me. My companions aren’t supposed to be here in the first place, they were drug over by inaccurate, desperate magiks, until the Exarch finally managed to pin me down and bring me over.” A soft, rumbling purr suddenly sounded out, and all three glanced down at Y’Shtola, Casimir with love and the other two in shock. 

“Aye, she really loves ya... Mystel don’ purr like tha’ unless they’re with someone they really love ‘r trust.” Casimir smiles down at Y’Shtola, his hands still slowly running through her hair,

“We’ve been through too much together not to trust eachother... I’d put my life in her hands any day, and she’s done the same with me...” The three watch Y’Shtola as she lets out another soft purr, and the Mystel stands up,

“Aye, well, Ah best git back ta work ‘afore I get yelled at. It’s nice speakin’ with ya Casimir.”

“You too brother, have fun!” The Mystel scoffs, but leaves with a smile on his face. Giott chugs the last sip of her drink, sighing appreciatively before nodding,

“I’m gonna go continue to get drunk, join me whenever if ya want!” Casimir nods to the dwarf as she runs off, leaving him alone with Y’Shtola. He turns his attention to her, gently rubbing her ears and running his fingers through her hair. 

“You know...”he speaks softly, not wanting anyone else to hear, and not knowing she’s listening in, “I’m really not the Warrior of Darkness, or Light. I’m just a man with an ability to survive being tempered by Primals, and can apparently survive absorbing massive amounts of Light Aether. I couldn’t have done anything I did if it wasn’t for you, and the rest of the Scions. You’re the real Warriors of Light, the ones who kept me alive and kept me fighting. You’re the one that helped me through Limsa Lominsa, who introduced me to the Scions. You’ve always been there for me, in the Steppes and in Ala Mihgo. It’s always been you behind me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay the debt I owe to you but damn it if I’m not going to try my hardest... I love you Y’Shtola...” He kisses his hand, placing it gently on her cheek, failing to notice the growing smile she wore, or the lone tear that fell from her closed eyes. 

[fistsoflightning]

and then there was two.

there will always be someone who is completely, wholly unsaveable.

        gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: salvation

even before zaya met the newest reincarnation of minfilia, part of them knew it wouldn’t be who they were expecting.

minfilia—the first minfilia, the one who kept this world living for two centuries longer than it should, started a cycle of new minfilias that inevitably dashed their lives against the horde of sin eaters because her self-sacrificing, bleeding, golden heart would never be dimmed by something as simple as time and new life—had been dead for a very long time. even before those two centuries lost to halting the flood. she may have died in the sil’dih aqueducts to save what warriors of light she could, but to zaya she died the moment they drank firebrand poison and wine while toasting to a naive new ul’dah.

the memory of her haunts both of them in the worst ways, the two of them cursed to be in pain just by being touched by minfilia back before she was a leader and icon and a banner to rally under; hells, that selfsame memory nearly got both thancred and zaya killed, back when they were out for someone to blame for all the regrets wadded into the hole in their chests that losing her made standing by the cliffside outside of idyllshire.

but she will always, always be right over zaya’s shoulder no matter what, so they try their best to separate the minfilia living inside their head and the minfilia standing right in front of them; in this world, minfilia is more than a decade younger than her, more a daughter than a sibling and deserving of so much more than what zaya can give her. it’s going through the motions but with only half the heart behind them; half-moon smiles, quiet adventures in il mheg, laughs that are less than their usual thunderous quality. their heart has been bleeding for far too long to remember how they even managed to comfort lunya, sirius, and valdis in those humble beginnings in pearl lane, wound deepened by missing friends and another war.

zaya may have been one of many warriors of light, but minfilia was the leader of the scions, the one who remembered thancred and zaya from before the calamity split their memories into two, the one who persevered through countless duties and pains to make sure the world at large would be safer, if even by just a fraction. 

and even in death, she leaves both zaya and thancred on their knees when the child whose name is only minfilia because it fulfills the populace’s need for heroes and legends and lights at the ends of countless tunnels says:

“i wish they’d just say it—just say that they hate me! i can see it thancred’s eyes, in zaya’s smiles—that they wish i was dead so she could return…”

…

there will always be another version of them hiding behind the topmost layer, and zaya finds that the newest one is quieter. more akin to brooding than to escaping or confronting, more like the state they were in after fighting zenos back in ghimlyt dark. they thought they’d shaken this version of themselves off, stored it in the back of their mind.

and yet here it is, with all the dreadful penchant for reminiscence they could ever want.

someone in their motley crew of heroes suggests they take a night of rest before facing a trolley ride one might not return from—honestly, zaya wouldn’t be surprised if it were lunya or hanami who asked (more like demanded), hoping to get them (or thancred) to say something, anything—and by the dirty looks lunya gives both of them before retreating to her sleeping bag, thancred hasn’t done anything either.

“i can’t believe either of you right now. idiots, the both of you.” lunya hisses as she rolls out her bedroll next to hanami’s, and zaya silently agrees before slinking out of the small room all of them have been spared to sleep in for a few short bells.

even in spite of the light festering under their skin, eating away at the font of lightning at the center of their soul and sapping their energy. zaya is too tired to sleep. too awake, too aware to sort through everything, and too in pain from the swell of their heart beneath their skin to choke out the words i’m sorry in some worthless attempt to make up for faults that have been lying below the surface of their skin for years.

so instead of retreating to the shed thaffe and jeryk cleared for them to sleep in, away from the endless light, they climb up to the tallest cliff, sit at the edge, and stare blankly into the orange sands of amh araeng. waiting, observing, taking in the endless weight of a dying world and drowning in it to see if they can even possibly measure up to what little minfilia feels when the people of the crystarium call her oracle, a beacon, a living legend.

even if zaya was fourteen again and filled with the anger at their own family they’d dispensed a while back, they don’t think the sheer rage of being shunned would match up to the despair of not just feeling, but knowing two people who are supposed to be your guardians detest you. zaya couldn’t dare to pretend they knew the pain minfilia was going through. hells, they barely knew themselves; understanding others was beyond them.

so they don’t, and instead of dwelling on the things they cannot understand, they focus on meditating—familiar, comforting, simple. close your eyes, breathe in deep, count to ten, exhale, repeat until your thoughts are calm instead of thunderous. 

and, inevitably, in the quiet lull of the thunderstorms inside their head, their thoughts wander to the minfilia they knew—the one that yet lives inside their head.

she might be two summers their elder, but zaya can’t help but think of her as younger, even when they met in the goldsmith’s guild all those years ago—she a miner with a gift and an almost-brother and they a goldsmith with nothing left to lose. even now, with her eyes stolen away by the crystalline blue of hydaelyn, zaya can remember the warm grey from before she was a mouthpiece for this god all of them were bound to, and wonders why.

why take her? why someone so dedicated, so optimistic, so many things left to do and say? why make her a mouthpiece instead of giving the mercy of not seeing your friends and almost-family suffer at the sight of you? why can’t zaya save the first woman they thought of as my sister since leaving the steppe?

i promise i won’t hurt you, they said once upon a time to a girl afraid of them because of their legacy as the ‘bolt from the blue’, coliseum menace and one of few to face off against ‘raging bull’ raubahn aldynn and survive the encounter. i promise.

why were they calling themselves a hero—or worse, minfilia’s friend if they couldn’t extend, couldn’t keep that promise with a girl that carries minfilia’s legacy?

zaya opens their eyes to the expanse of orange sands once again, entirely drained and wanting to go back to a time before… everything. they can’t come up with an answer before sati comes out from the bushes and sits beside them, laying her hand over theirs in a solidarity zaya hasn’t seen from her in years—not since she was small enough to not see above their waist and living under both dorbei’s and their care.

“are you…” sati trails off, her voice murky, like zaya is underwater and hasn’t surfaced in a long, long time. “no. i’m… i’ll just sit here, ‘kay? not gonna leave you here.” her voice is the firmest it’s been in years, more confident in her decision than ever before, and zaya doesn’t fight it. they don’t fight reese or rjoli’s pitying stares, ihget’sae’s worried glance from the corner of the room, hanami’s angry tail whips, or lunya’s frustrated silence when they walk back into the shed, either. they don’t rest much either, instead pulling out their journal and flipping to the page where thancred had jokingly wrote some poetry over five years ago, before everything crumbled and their ul’dahn trio fell to two, fingertips running over the words—

but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.

…

zaya quietly walks over to minfilia as thancred and urianger do some final checks to their equipment and the talos, not really knowing where their fellow warriors are but knowing they don’t have long before they leave. their stomach churns, empty and hollow, but filled with imaginary butterflies instead; the kind that accompanies both their feelings for thancred and the dread of arguments.

“minfilia?” they say as clearly as possible, voice still cracking from the dryness of amh araeng and the struggle of learning to speak after decades of hardly opening their mouth. “c’n we talk?”

she sniffles, nodding her head, and zaya scoops up both of her hands into theirs, quietly turning her to face them and oh, her eyes are still red and teary, she’s still not handling this well. the urge to just pull her into a hug and never let go is overwhelming, but what she needs is not a pat to the head, not a simple hug, not just loving words and a sincere apology but all of the above.

if only thancred could pull his guts together to join them.

“heard you an’ urianger yesterday,” zaya says soothingly, tightening their grip over minfilia’s small hands only when fear seeps into her expression. “and ‘m so, so sorry i can’t love you the way you need me to.”

minfilia practically stumbles over her words, quietly tugging her hands further and further from zaya’s grasp and oh gods zaya really hopes they aren’t hurting her, quickly letting go when she tugs next. “i—no, it’s fine, i promise! yesterday was just—”

“no, y’u were…” it’d be too cruel to say that she was wrong; too cruel to say that both of them truly wanted the best for her, didn’t hate her in misguided parts when thancred said nothing at all and zaya couldn’t find the right things to tell her, but it was easier, if needed. then again, zaya had never been one for the path of least resistance. “you were right, but not about one thing; we… we both hate ourselves.”

she looks utterly shocked at the idea, but zaya pushes forward and tells the tale of how they and thancred almost didn’t live to see norvrandt; how they pushed each others’ buttons until he cracked first, how they both tortured themselves over the mess that was that age-old escape from ul’dah and how minfilia’s legacy has haunted them for longer before they knew her… with many, many changes. it isn’t a ballad, nor a fairytale, but it is the truth, and it is what she deserves to know about her guardian and her ally.

“you… you two…?” she mumbles, eyes wide and less teary than before. good. “but—you two are practically—when we were in dhon mheg, and the ravel, and the temple, you two were inseparable.”

zaya feels like that is a gross exaggeration—they can stand not knowing how thancred is doing for a few minutes—but continues anyways. “not always. we’re a lil’ stupi’ now, b’t we were worse ‘fore this.”

“i don’ wanna be forgiven,” they say, quietly; a secret that very few know and even fewer try to remember. “i don’ deserve to, an’ neither does thancred. but…” they pull her closer, wrapping their arms around her back and hugging her tight, as if she might suddenly disappear from zaya’s life like minfilia did all those years ago before they could tell her how incredibly glad they were to know her. “i wanna try again—do better, f’r you, if you let me.”

minfilia, for all her strength, doesn’t respond—not speechless, but occupied. her tears drip, drip, drip down zaya’s back, the blue overcoat they normally wear tied around their waist to reveal their (rather ragged) white tanktop. when she does catch her breath for long enough in gaps between her silent sorrow, she pulls her arms away from zaya’s chest to wrap around their neck instead, burying her face into their shoulders.

“i… i don’t know, yet,” she says truthfully, and zaya is glad thancred told her about the whole lying versus harsh truth thing they’ve always had a hard time explaining themselves. “can i tell you when we get back?”

when we get back, zaya thinks, sifting through the words in their head. she was always more earnest around them, or lunya, or any of their small crew that wasn’t thancred, really, but in her words she promises, not tries to promise. we.

“o’ course,” zaya promises back, because it’s the least they can do. they have a lot of promises to keep, they realize shortly after opening their mouth, but it feels… good. “always.”

...

the trolley crashes—because yet again, nothing is ever easy for the warriors of darkness, is it?—zaya’s horn is cracked from falling onto a very big rock, ran’jit is soaked in the memories of an old, different minfilia and then betrayed by the newest minfilia, and thancred stays behind. zaya prays it’s not because he fears what he might say to the old minfilia but because he’s had decades to learn that sometimes actions speak as loud as words do from learning zaya’s story until it was burned into his memory, fingers calloused and burnt from learning a storm made incarnate inside out, and he’s finally decided to use that knowledge instead of keeping it boxed in his chest. their head is utterly throbbing as they run ahead of lunya, lightning running through their blood faster than ever before because what if they lose not one but two on this journey, what if thancred has finally bit off more than he can chew, what if it’s like ul’dah all over again—

“zaya!” ihget’sae barks out in worry, even if his voice is more angry than it is soothing, and it hurts so much more than they thought it would to listen. “slow down!”

they stop, then, if only because the sickening feeling of bile rising up their throat from the pain is new, different, horrible. minfilia—who looks worriedly at them as she passes—keeps running ahead, and only when hanami and sati catch up to all of them does zaya start their desperate sprint again.

when the light-seared sky makes hanami’s aurum regis horn glint menacingly, zaya clutches at their own horn tighter. the crack feels bigger than it should, but it—their horn—doesn’t matter. if the price to pay for norvrandt’s salvation was their horn and the pain sure to follow, they’d pay it gladly. they’ve survived worse than a loss of balance; even if it did mess up their ability to fight with their fists, it would be a equal exchange for a world.

one life for one world, urianger’s voice rings from memory, except this time he had no say in the sacrifice. 

good, a more bitter part of them responds. the pure rancor from the voice inside their head sings of something abyssal, something they usually bury under lightning and fire and earth, but it sings truer than most of zaya’s scattered thoughts, as of late. as it should be.

zaya keeps running.

and when they finally make it to the fallen palace of nabaath areng and get dragged through a centuries-old memory of ardbert, minfilia, the warriors of darkness before them, and the flood, zaya is left on their knees by minfilia for the second and final time.

“ours is a meeting long overdue,” the word says to the oracle, not even waiting for the warriors surrounding little minfilia to regain their bearings. “full glad am i that we may finally speak.”

zaya remains sitting on the liquid crystal floor as lunya, hanami, sati—everyone but them gets up to look minfilia—the word of the mother minfilia—eye to eye, instead staring at the light bleeding and blurring her figure like some runny painting in a tarnished storybook left out in the rain. maybe it’s the tears stinging at the corners of zaya’s vision, but she looks… tired. tired of waiting, tired of watching, tired of perpetuating a cycle of pain and suffering that is going to end, one way or another, now.

and suddenly, they have one answer to thousands of whys. minfilia cannot be saved, they think, because she is like you. determined. blessed. chosen. (cursed.)

so when the word—minfilia looks to them longingly, zaya does not say how they wish she was still alive, how they wish they could show her what they can accomplish now. instead, zaya foolishly says, “t’hncred says ‘ello,” and keeps their mouth shut for the rest of the short visit to some realm where the gold of both minfilias’ hair bleeds into the light-soaked scenery, their saved tears quietly hidden behind untied hair and long bangs.

they think they might make it from this conversation relatively whole, watching quietly and contentedly as the two daughters of hydaelyn speak their minds with them as the witnesses. the almost do, and then minfilia whispers “i am truly sorry, friend. i love you.” and zaya’s heart is undone.

…

they don’t wake up with everyone else at the foot of nabaath areng, after minfilia disappears for good and after the waking memories of ardbert being refused his sacrifice.

instead, zaya wakes to their hair untied, thancred’s (torn, bloodied, stained) coat thrown over them, and a girl with grey eyes and terra-cotta hair looking surprised to see them awake. not a few seconds later does zaya sit up, head reeling as they look around to see the scions sitting just a little bit over three yalms away

“zaya,” she exhales tiredly. “you’re awake. lunya thought—” she points to their right horn, not daring to touch the ridges. “—the wound you were hiding here was more serious than just knocking you unconscious, seeing as it… well.”

they reach up to touch where the crack was, fingertips shaky and scratched up beyond all belief and find the smooth surface that only accompanied crystal, and from the slight thrum in their horn from the touch…

“thancred says it’s lightning crystal, or some gemstone attuned to your aether.” the girl carefully presses a mirror—dusty, old, slightly cracked—into their hands. “i, er. i don’t quite understand it all, but… when she—minfilia, that is—brought us back to nabaath areng, my appearance and your horn were already like this.”

zaya lifts the mirror to their face, and oh—the crack on their horn is filled with small slivers of gleaming gemstone; blue topaz, which explains the weird, sharp, clear and crisp tones to all of the sounds zaya’s can hear. it’s almost too similar to the exarch’s situation, what with the crystal marking his face and arm, but hells, they’re surprised they can hear at all with the gemstone filling the gaps between rough bone. gemstones aren’t crystal, after all.

but zaya has more pressing matters to attend to than figuring out the logistics of filling in a fracture with a non-organic material; besides, it’s not like their horn will be going anywhere.

“who are you?” zaya asks as the chatter from the scions and warriors die down.

“i—” the small girl with the weight of a two century long legacy in her hands and every last one of them standing by her side pauses, a small glimmer of hope crossing her eyes like a thunderbolt as she looks at them carefully. they both know what zaya asked wasn’t from amnesia, but of something else. “my name… is ryne.”

firefly, zaya quickly signs, and thancred inhales sharply from three yalms away even as ryne tilts her head in confusion. he knew nearly every sign in the book; it wasn’t surprising he’d catch them giving ryne a gift of their own. it’s the closest to saying i love you so, so much without saying it at all, because words wouldn’t possibly fit i’m sorry, are you alright, and can i try again all in six words.

“means firefly,” they clarify for ryne when she looks back at thancred, confusion turning into worry. “your new namesign, if you want? can’t keep callin’ y’u minfilia.”

“...i would like that very much,” ryne says, smiling and trying to keep a few tears from building at the corners of her eyes, and in that very moment—then there were two of an old friendship left behind, the shadow of minfilia finally lifting from zaya’s shoulder as ryne’s smile brought zaya’s heart back; salvation.

[durrzerker]

Taskmaster: The Line. Chapter 5: Secrets

The old Masters of Evil headquarters was still intact. It had not burned down, been bombed, or been swarmed by supervillains. There weren't even rats in the walls.

That was the totality of the good news.

Everything else, in summary, had completely gone to shit.

It was a ragged party that crossed the threshold of Baron Zemo's former home. Laura and Black Ant were leading the pack by now, as they were the only ones who weren't limping or nearly collapsing with exhaustion. Black Ant had caught up with the group shortly after shrinking down to escape the chaos that he had spawned during the Bagalia Freedom Festival, and it was a good thing, too; Akeja had silently collapsed a quarter mile from the gargantuan mansion, and the other children weren't faring much better. Carrying Akeja and Mara across his shoulders like a pair of sandbags, Eric had been uncharacteristically silent as they stopped in the dank foyer of the abandoned building. "Amazing no one's taken this place over yet," he finally said.

"They've been trying." Taskmaster was favoring his wounded rib a bit more now; without time to rest and with the increasingly desperate pace that they had set to finish out their journey, he was in a good deal of pain himself. "I hadn't decided what to do with the place, so I've been letting ol' Tessie clear them out to keep her weapons in good shape. An idling warbot is..." He trailed off; he couldn't even finish the joke. The spot where Laura had stabbed him was throbbing in the way only an adamantium blade could, the same way it had when she'd gored his hand a year back. It was like every nerve had been cut in half with molecular precision. Pulling off his dirty cloak and setting it into a pile against the wall, he collapsed against it. "Role call..."

Laura, whose healing factor at least allowed her to remain in peak shape, set Malakai down on a huge old Corinthian leather couch. "Everyone's here. I've been keeping track. You don't look so good, Taskmaster."

"No shit? Maybe it's because you fucking stabbed me." He wasn't mad about it. Really.

"I'm not going to feel guilty about that," Laura replied, her ears visibly burning. "You had done nothing to warrant the benefit of the doubt, and you left Black Ant behind to ambush me."

"I left him behind to ambush the person -stalking- us," Tony countered. "How was I supposed to know it was you? How long had you even been following us, anyways? Didn't you see us -helping- the fucking kids?" Tony closed his eyes behind his mask, even as he argued. To Laura, it still looked like the ghoulish visage was staring her down.

"...Truth be told, yes. But from where I was, it just looked like you were fighting over them -- and you did crash their vehicle."

Tony could tell that she didn't like when she had to try and get a bead on how he was feeling. The man's airtight costume blocked his scent from her, and he could alter his body language whenever he liked; it was one of his most useful skills, the kind that wasn't as obvious to people as other applications of his photographic reflexes.

"Well, whatever," Tony replied with a grunt. "The Hub's agent ain't here and I need to sleep, alright? Wake me up when they arrive -- I think we could all use a little rest."

"I don't think we should..." Laura pursed her lips and stopped when she heard the crinkling of a wrapper behind her. Eric had finally found use for his remaining honey buns he'd swiped earlier. He was passing them out to the assorted Scions, who had piled together on the couch in the living room. While Akeja had gone right to sleep, the others' hunger had won out - they voraciously assaulted the treats with the kind of shamelessness only starvation could inspire. "...Yeah, alright. Only for awhile though, Masters." She turned around and headed towards the kitchen with that, likely to look for more food for the children.

Tony watched her go, but before she'd even made it out of the living room, the mercenary had passed out. He dreamed of the Scion children.

--

He was in the middle of some kind of nightmare in which all six of the children were surrounding him, throwing accusations that he couldn't understand in their unique language. He wasn't quite sure exactly when he woke up, because when he did, the children were arguing loudly in that same tongue.

"Hey, hey!" Eric called out. "Come on, people are trying to sleep here -- namely my very ill-tempered partner."

"Fuck you, Man of Ants!" Shouted the sixth child that Tony had never heard speak yet, and now it was evident why; a girl with red hair and a deeply thick brogue, she was barely understandable even when trying her best. "Y'think ginna scrap o'fud makeus even?! Not a'er what you did, nay, him neither!"

What him and Eric did...? Taskmaster didn't move from where he was, kept his breathing slow. His perfect control of his body's actions came in handy here -- especially when Laura joined the conversation, returning to the living room to figure out what the big screaming match was about. "What's going on? What -did- you two do, O'Grady...?"

"It's none of your business, Wolverine." Eric's voice was surprisingly serious, more harsh than almost any time that Tony had heard it before. "If these brats really want to tell you, I can't stop them; but I'm not turning on him like that."

There was a pause. Tony opened his eyes, opting to keep his mask's optics dimmed in the process; all part of how he could easily pretend that he wasn't paying attention, even to Wolverine's highly enhanced senses. Laura was pacing, glancing to the gathered children and then stopping before Eric. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this one way or the other, but I'm curious; why -do- you do this, O'Grady?"

"What do you mean?" He snapped back defensively.

"Why do you follow Taskmaster? I've seen your relationship. You call yourself his partner, but he treats you more like a sidekick. You were an Avenger once; you were a hero, even if you had your problems. Why follow a jerk like Masters?"

Clearly trying to deflect, Black Ant turned away from her. "Keep your voice down, huh? You're gonna wake him up."

"He's completely passed out. I'd be able to hear it if he was up."

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this, Black Ant hesitated, then explained, "Look...you don't know him like I do. I -don't- follow Taskmaster."

"But--"

"--Stop. You want to know? Then let me talk." Eric stepped forward, accusingly prodding her in the chest. "I don't follow Taskmaster, I follow -Tony-. Even when he trained me back with the Initiative, I could tell something was different about him compared to other supervillains. He -got- what it was like, you know? To want to do one thing, but to feel drawn to another. Then, when I was with the Secret Avengers, I found out about everything...his memory problems. His -wife-."

"He's got a WIFE?" Laura nearly shouted, then covered her mouth. Taskmaster's breath nearly hitched, giving him away. It took all of his self-control to maintain the illusion that he was asleep, doubly so when Eric turned to look his way.

"Yeah, he does; and he doesn't even know it. It's The Hub. You know, the lady who's supposed to be sending our fucking -help-? The way his powers work, every time he copies someone new, like he did to get your stupid foot claws, he loses everything else. As far as most people are concerned, Taskmaster's all that's left; the mercenary, the guy who will kidnap anyone or fight anyone for hire; but when you work with him like I do, you -see- him every day...it becomes obvious that ain't the case."

"Bullshit," Maya snapped, sounding wounded.

"...It's true," Eric insisted. "Look, don't get me wrong! Tony -- not Taskmaster -- isn't a saint. I'm not saying he's some kind of heroic good guy underneath it all. But you don't realize how -easy- he goes on you fucking people," the mercenary accused, glaring at Laura as he started to anxiously pace in a circle. "Did you know that? He'd rather let himself get stabbed through the hand than actually risk really hurting you, because even though -he- doesn't understand it...this is self-flagellation. He's punishing himself every time he takes a job, and his fucking wife LETS him! He doesn't know any better! He's in...factory settings, as he calls it!"

Falling silent for a moment, Laura pressed her hand to her mouth in thought. When she finally responded, her tone was somber and disbelieving in equal measure. She wasn't buying this at all. "So, what. You're saying he wasn't -trying- when he attacked my sisters and I? He shot them in the head!"

"No, I'm saying that he was trying -- to commit suicide by superhero. Look...I've seen him when pressed, okay? He does -not- go down easy, and there's a reason that he's actually feared so much in Bagalia. He doesn't half-ass it here; you piss him off, you're dead. You do something he finds distasteful, you're dead. If you were watching us, you saw how we shut down that Jason Waterfalls jerkoff. He'd never fight like that against you, against Spider-Man, against any of you 'hero' types." Slumping down onto the couch, planting his palms against either side of his helmet, Eric took it off. A mess of unruly red hair, a to-the-atom perfect replica of the appearance of his original body. Tony knew that he'd often questioned if he was the 'real' Eric, or some kind of facsimile created in his image. Tony had always argued the former, maybe against his better senses. He just wasn't sure that he himself liked the alternative. Was that selfish? He considered it before focusing his attention on his partner's continued speaking.

"I've seen him pin his boot to Captain America's face. He had him dead to rights. But when the time came, he didn't finish the job, even though he could have. And if you corner him about it, he'll claim it's because he doesn't want the 'heat', or he'll make excuses, but when it really comes down to it..." Eric looked up at Laura; Taskmaster was too far away to see his expression, but his tone gave away everything that he needed to know. "...That's Tony in there, under The Taskmaster. People don't see Tony, he hides it so well. They see that stupid fucking costume, that ridiculous cape...and a grim echo of the guy I know who taught me; who's ignored every rule he sets for himself for my sake."

"Why, though?" Laura asked, sounding skeptical. "It's easy for you to make these claims, but have you ever considered that he's lying to you? That he's just pathetic and lonely, and keeps you around so he has control over someone?"

"Shut the hell up," Eric snapped back at her, nearly rising. "I'm not the only one who knows this. He'll pretend he's forgotten, but Cap does, too; can you believe Taskmaster still admires him? Hell, have you ever even SEEN him copy a supervillain's moves? I've seen him throw like Bullseye, like...once. But day in, day out? It's Rogers. Daredevil. Black Knight. Hawkeye. -You-. And you wanna tell me he's faking it, when he tries to be like you on a level even he doesn't realize?"

Laura looked ready to bite back, to respond to Eric's accusatory tone, but after a moment she simply stopped walking around and regarded the children. While they still looked annoyed, still seemed ready to argue with Eric, they'd all shifted to listening intently. For some reason that Tony couldn't fathom, they were invested in this. What did Black Ant know? What wasn't he telling him?

"He wants to be the best, and I don't just mean at fighting. Every time, before he forgets, he becomes a little more like you, a little less like Taskmaster," Eric murmured, barely loud enough for Taskmaster to hear. "And then he goes back to it, gets his next job; but I'm not stupid. I've been watching people who were better than me my whole life. When he -really- has a reason to fight, you can almost see Tony in there, like a reflection in a lake. And then he has to copy someone new, or gets pushed further than his mind can take, and --" He mimicked a popping sound with his finger in his mouth. "...The next pebble drops, and it's gone."

The room fell silent for a little while, interrupted only by the sounds of the Scions grabbing the food that Laura had brought them on a tray and starting to dig into it. Looking conflicted, Wolverine finally threw her hands up. "So, what? You're saying that I should trust him? That he's 'not so bad'?"

"No," Eric replied coolly, putting his helmet back on. "I'm saying that I'm keeping my cards to my chest for a reason, and that I'm not telling you about what happened with these kids for the same reason I'm not telling -him-. Like I said, if they want to share? I can't stop them; but you won't understand why things went down like they did. What I will tell you is this: You need Taskmaster to save these children. Even they know it; it's the only reason they haven't ratted us out already. And if he finds out what he did...he's gonna run. He'll snap, he'll disappear, and then we're all fucked."

"He can barely move. He's hardly going to carry this team." Laura's tone wasn't proud, just factual.

"I'm not talking about fighting," Eric replied vaguely. "Just...don't trust me, okay? I don't give a shit. I don't even like you, Logan had better hair. Talk to the kids if you want, but I'm done explaining myself." He started past her, only for the smaller woman to plant a palm on his chest.

"This isn't finished, O'Grady," Laura warned. "Not by a long shot."

"I know," he responded, "...And I'm sorry, I spoke out of turn. Your hair is -amazing-." Taskmaster couldn't see them anymore, but he heard the distinct sound of Eric attempting to lean in and smell her -- and Laura punching him in the stomach.

After that, the group scattered. The Hub's agent -- the agent of his wife, Tony forced himself to try and internalize without much success -- was still not here, and everyone was occupying the time they were forced to wait differently. Eric was playing on his phone, Laura checked on the Scions and then went to explore the enormous mansion, and the Scions huddled together, finally well-fed and trying to catch up on their immense lack of sleep.

For his part, Taskmaster had a lot to think about now. Waiting another half hour or so before 'waking up', he finally rose and staggered out of the living room, heading for the armory. When he'd been working as Zemo's prison warden, he had stashed some equipment here, including of the medical variety. He could patch himself up a little better, get fighting fit again.

He'd barely opened the door of the safehouse and stepped inside when he heard footsteps approaching; small and quick. Grabbing a kit full of strange syringes, his personal supply of advanced first aid from his on-staff scientist Albino, Taskmaster turned in time to see one of the Scions approaching. It was the last he didn't recognize, all fire-colored hair and intense features that he quickly recognized as a strange mixture of Chinese and Scottish.

Tears in her eyes, she stepped forward, fearlessly grabbing for the first weapon she could find - a Desert Eagle, already loaded for haste's sake in case of emergency, barrel pointing straight at Taskmaster's forehead. When she finally spoke, it was through tears. "D'ye really not remember what ya did to us?" She asked him accusingly.

He didn't know how to answer.

[sootcloak]

Crow’s Shadow: Carrion Circle

Second part of a short serial installment I’m working on as a general exercise on plotting, editing and the like. You can find the other parts linked here - {Part One: Repair Required} - I’ll add the last link once Part Three is up. Same spoiler warnings as Part One apply. Same general content warnings apply.

~2400 words, featuring Hilda the Mongrel and Rostnthal the Reborn. Centered around a tense cross country trip, and the looming specter of a dangerous foe. Twelve help me I’d hoped I could fit more of the plot into this one the last part is gonna be so long, such a pain to edit.

A cold, mountain spring cuts through the highlands. The water runs babbling over old, long-smooth stones. Along its bank, a cart is still. A pair of chocobos sleep, curled in on one another. Bright yellow feathers pool starkly against the grey and white of the highland’s snow-covered earth.

The campfire, dim and growing colder by the minute, pops and sizzles in the moonlit dark. Every few moments, the earth rumbles with a heavy snore from deep in Rostnthal’s chest. The old Sea Wolf is leaned up against the back of one of the birds, a canvas sheet thrown over both he and the chocobo. Hilda lies beneath the cart itself, nestled up in a tight ball of quilts and jackets.

In the back of the cart, Vavara rifles through the packed supplies. She loads specially marked shells into her revolver. It’s reflective white metal glints in the moonlight. It has a mirror shine in the dead of night, it’s engravings doing little to break up the perfect polish she’s maintained. It is a slow process, painstaking with just one hand. The cartridges hum and vibrate in their chambers, the ether concentrate within nervously singing to her heightened hearing.

Six shots in each cylinder.

If he’s there, it’ll take at least fifteen of these to break his barrier. Even with aether-charged rounds, the inadequacy of her armaments hangs over her. Missing an arm means choosing between her spear and a firearm. Damaged as she is, she might not even have enough aether at her disposal to ignite the spearblade.The core nested between her lungs is pressed cold and stark against her heart, like a long-dull knife. Her soul, nestled within it’s crystal depths, aches from long-faded scars. Her whole body would be a treasure trove for him, secrets to decipher, power to steal. Weapons to wield.

Even then, measured against his life - her secrets, her safety, all things are cast into the pot.

--

She loads a spare cylinder with slow, committed strokes. It’ll take a long time to reload the weapon, even with this preparation.. She didn’t pick this hand, but she’ll play it till the cards are on the table. Folding was never an option, anyways.

Light falls on the small camp, the morning sun casting light into the narrow crevice beneath the cart. Hilda wakes up with a yawn. Her arms stretch across the dirt, eyes squeezed shut. She growls softly deep in her chest, and sits up. Her forehead slams into the wood with an audible crunch.

“Seven hells-” She snarls.

“Gyahah!” Rostnthal’s laughter echoes over the small glade, watching with a gleaming eye as she clutches her forehead.

“‘Ey, Ashenheart! I won! Ye’ owe me a drink when we get back!” His grin is audible, a chuckle reverberating in his voice.

“I never agreed to playing your game.” Vavara says. “Besides, I owe you more than a drink if we all return safely.”

“Heh. Humorless. What with ye’ hangin with the Scions lately, thought you may’ve lightened up some. Guess even they can’t get ye’ out’a that shell.” His voice is no less mirthful, seemingly unfazed by her chilled tone.

“A’ight, come get yer food. Breakfast’s done.” He slaps the side of the kettle, ringing loud and full. Still groaning and clutching a bloodied face, Hilda drops into a cross-legged sit besides Rostnthal.

They goad and poke at one another, the words fading into white noise as Vara sits atop the cart.Her eyes’ light dims, old, ash-soaked memories rising from the shadows of memory. A wave of nauseating nostalgia hits her in the gut.

“You not eating?” Hilda prods Vara with an empty bowl. The old, smoke-scented memories submerge into the dark again. 

“Not right now. I had hardtack before you two were up.” She pushes herself up to her feet, her arm stretching, slight shoulders squaring for a moment under the winter overcoat.

“I’ll get the birds ready while you two eat. We need to move soon.” Her footsteps crunch in the snow as she walks away. A hanging tension in the air slowly seeps into the air as she walks away.

“Y’know,” Rostnthal calls out, voice low and rumbling. “Ye’ still haven’t told us where we’re goin’. Or anything else of substance, really.”

“Yes,” She says as she hoists the barding onto one of the birds. She glances over her shoulder, eyes dimly glowing with an unnatural, cold light in the shadow of the brim of her cap. “I am aware.” The words are biting, dismissive.

“D’ye intend for us to go into whatever trouble is brewing blind?” His tone is calm and grim, his one, good eye locked on hers.

“I do.” She returns his gaze, ironclad.

“An’ if that means things get bloodier than they ‘ad to?”

“It won’t. I can’t protect you on the battlefield. Not in my condition.” She turns away, leading the chocobos to the cart’s front. She clips their barding in, the ‘coos’ and ‘kwehs’ of the birds giving her occasional pause to double check her work.

“So you won’t be there.” She says without turning. “I’ll be leaving you and the birds out of danger. When my student finds you, you’ll take him to Dragonhead.” 

“Wait, what?” Hilda pauses halfway between bites, eyes narrowing. “I came out here to help, not to be a damned taxi. You’re not traipsing off on your own, ‘specially not after all your talk about this fucker who’s hunting you.”

“You want to help?” Vara’s grip on the wood tightens, words turning venomous. “Then I’ve told you how. You want to die? Then go on, follow me after we part ways.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Hilda’s tone sours, “What’s your deal? We went over this on our first day out, and now half a week in you’re changing your tune? We know it’s dangerous, we get it.”

She sets her half-finished meal aside, standing up. Her hands come to rest on her hips, Rostnthal’s eye moving to rest on her.

“We signed on for this. We knew it’d get bloody, we knew it’d be a close thing. Y’think we’ve not learned to read you? That we were blind to what we were getting into?” She says, defiantly staring down at Vavara.

“So you’re going to ride in and save the day? Vanquish the bad man with your shiny gun and sporty marksmanship? You think you have what it takes to stand against  a man who’s decided he’d rather be a demon?” Vavara takes a deep, steadying breath. There’s something about the question which makes Rostnthal’s hairs stiffen. The skin on the back of his arms and back prickles. He’s still watching Hilda, a blooming anxiousness slowly taking up more space in his chest. He pushes the feeling down.

“Wouldn’t have stepped up if I didn’t think I could help” Hilda says, “An’ I may not be some vaunted champion of the realm like those you’ve been keepin’ the company of, but I-”

“You sound like a child. Too busy playing hero to see the danger you’re in.” Vavara’s chiding words cut through her momentum.

“What do you believe you are wagering? Your life? That in failure, you would die?” Her laugh is a single, wrenching cough. “This isn’t a battle of life and death. I’d sooner shoot myself in the head than allow any of those ‘vaunted champions’ to face him. Even the Warrior of Light, no especially the Warrior of Light.

“He does not kill. He captures. And those he captures become another one of the Empire’s experimental weapons. You would not die, you would become a monster to be sicked on your allies, your friends, and your loved ones.

“So I will face him alone. And you two will ensure an innocent boy does not become a monster because my past came to call. And if after hearing that, you still want to be the hero? Fine. You can be like all the others before you and die like one, too.” Her voice nearly chokes at the end. Shoulders tense, she pushes out a hoarse, whistling breath.

“I’ll do what I do best. Survive. And whatever I have to do to make sure he gets through this too? I’ll pay that price. Worry about yourself.”

“Vavara.” Rostnthal says, leaning in. “What’s so important about this kid that yer so concerned about ‘im getting captured.”

“Nothing. He’s just-” She begins, only for him to hold up one hand to silence her.

“Ye’ never go this far ‘just because’. I’ve seen ye’ in the ‘eat of battle. Cuttin losses ‘as never been somethin’ yer averse to. Even with lives. So if this kid is a hazard to himself more than anyone else, I reckon ye’d try and save him, sure. But to be willin’ to train and tutor a complete greenhorn, let alone throw yerself into the fire for ‘im?? Doesn’t add up.”

He waits. His eye locked on her back, her greying, braided hair shifting with a breeze. Hilda glances between the two, silence bubbling and steaming with tension.

“He is Blessed.” She speaks with a hushed admission, her voice accompanied by an undercurrent of choked, hissing metal.

“And from my observations, he has an aptitude for its power rarely seen. But he is young, foolhardy. I took him in because he otherwise would have found the Scions. And I refuse to see them make another martyr.” She glances back to the other two, over her good shoulder.

“His power will invite controversy and challenge, especially if he cannot wield it. And should Llain capture him, the prospect of an anti-eikon weapon imbued with the power of the Echo is a looming threat I cannot risk. If he can wield the Echo, if he learns how to use it to reinforce his sense of self and being, then he would retain his sanity through any kind of augmentation. Any kind of torment.” Her hand reaches up and rests flat against her chest, claw-tipped fingers scraping against the cloth and leather of her coat. 

“His soul could reside in even steel and crystal, and be unharmed by the process. But if he is captured before he learns to understand and wield the Echo, he could well become a weapon of terrifying power. An incarnation of death made manifest in steel and ceruleum.”

“I refuse to be the mother of death.” She says, softly, almost-inaudibly.

Rostnthal opens his mouth to speak, but the glare he receives from her in return stifles him for a moment.

“None of that changes what you must do. I trust you enough to determine your own path, if you will not heed my warnings. I will tell you what you need to know, even if it is not all you want to know.”

“No, it does change what we need to do. Whether you think so or not.” Hilda says, her confidence returning.

“That kid. What’s his name?” She asks, eyes fixed on Vavara’s.

“Tahve’ir.”

“Well, he’s going to need a teacher still, by your tone. So getting him out isn’t enough. I’ve got to make sure you both get out.”

“And if you can’t?” Vavara says as the two share a long, grim stare.

“Then I get him out, and come back for you. You said he doesn’t kill, and I doubt he can make it back to Garlemald in a single night. So, we get Tahve’ir out, and if you get caught in the meantime, I’ll run back and get you out in the night.”

“Nah.” Rostnthal’s voice rumbles softly, quietly. “Ye’ ain’t got experience with that kinda work. I’ve ran with the yellow jackets and the like, bustin’ slave rings and smashin’ smugglin’ ops. If she gets caught and we have to pull out, I’ll go. An’ you’ll take the kid.” He looks towards Hilda, a confident spark in his eye.

“Alright. Best not mess it up, y’old drunkard.” Hilda says, she cocks a nervous grin and playfully jabs his arm. He just chuckles grimly.

“So you won’t heed my warnings.” Vavara’s voice is distant, a kind of shrill, haunting whistle riding under the injured voice. “It always happens like this.”

“Chin up.” He says, crossing the distance between himself and her in a few steps. He drops to one knee, and rests one hand on her shoulder. He grips her softly, confidently.

“I’m not ignorin’ what ye’ said. We can’t win in a direct fight? Then we’ll just have to run ‘im ‘round the bush. Keep ‘im guessin’. Keep ‘im dazed. We’ll work on strategies on the way there.” He takes a deep breath, and then stands. He climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Have faith.” He says, patting the birds with a solid, steady palm. “‘Ave faith, an’ all will be well. Besides. Yer not meant t’look so glum. Doesn’t suit yer’ image. Times like these, a snarl’s better.”

She just takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and nods.

She jumps up into the back of the cart as Hilda finishes dumping the last bits of the kettle, and scooping her bowl back up into one hand. The dinnerware sack lands in the back with a cataclysmic, chaotic crash.

As soon as her boots are fixed upon the wood, Rostnthal whips the reins and the birds kick up dust as they run.

--

The sun sinks back low in the sky again. Pale-red light streaks across the untamed mountains between Ishgard and Ala Mhigo.

A small shack with a sprawling, chaotic garden sits on a low, narrow plateau. Heavy, metal boots scratch into the wet, snow-melt fed earth. A man with sandy skin, a straight back and strong shoulders stands at the edge of the homestead. His hair is neatly, painstakingly pulled into a long, salt and pepper braid. It rests on his armored pauldrons, and hangs down to his waist. His eyes, a gilded, ember orange, take in the small, humble abode.

In one hand, he holds a thick, angular blade. It’s gunmetal edge reflects no light, despite the bright morning. Coarse and rough, like a painted, sharp thorn of ink clutched tight.

In the other, he holds a stark, shining revolver. It’s pearly white metal casts myriad colors onto the ground around him, and up onto his own blackened platemail. 

In the light of dusk, his aura shines bright and ethereal around him. Dancing, half-there reflections in intangible glass.

He takes a deep breath, and cracks a cheery grin His shadow stretches over the gardens in the evening light. He can smell the faintest hint of ceruleum in the air.

“Finally. Progress.” His smile is all teeth and ambition.