#tesleen ffxiv

[man-killer527]

Shout-out to women who turn into fucked up winged monsters gotta be my favorite gender

[sammi-doodles]

And even when your hope is gone Move along, move along just to make it through

Thinking about Tesleen and Alisaie lately...

[gabriellemkari]

She was like actually the love of my life

[texff14]

Old Tesleen pic.

In fact, it was just recently the anniversary of SB. For me It was a shocking moment and a way of saying "welcome to Shadowbringers, this will be a painful story, we are just starting".

[mimble-sparklepudding]

15. Serene (free day).

When I was first introduced to Tesleen,

Everything appeared calm and serene,

But I got quite a fright,

As she vomited light,

With a hole where her chest should have been.

FFXIVwrite2024 gets all dark... Or should that be light?

(with thanks to @naejlas-axe for the word suggestion)

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 02: Horizon

alisaie blue screens of death after tesleen kisses her. alisaie x tesleen, shadowbringers spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: general. 2298 words. due to my wol's extended timeline, alisaie is a little older than her canonical age here. ao3 link

“Oh, Twelve damn it.”

The curse—and several others—slip easily from Alisaie’s mouth. It has been less than a quarter of a bell since she started her climb and already her body is aching. Her palms are scuffed by grit and a dull throb pulses in her ankle. No doubt she has twisted it—an embarrassment, to be sure. With her luck she might just lose her grip and fall off the stupid hill before she even reaches the summit. Alphinaud will never forgive her.

But she has already begun and there is no turning back now. Gritting her teeth, she closes her mind to the pain and continues her slow ascent. It’s not comfortable work. The wind is ferocious from this direction, chafing her cheeks raw and blowing sand into her eyes. Every breath she takes fills her lungs with dust, coating her tongue and mouth. Sweat drips down her spine, sticking her clothes to her back. Worst of all, the Light beats down upon her with its unnatural, unrelenting glare. She has had her fair share of Thanalan sun and Ala Mhigan haze, but this? Nothing compares to this.  

At least her hair is out of her face. It hangs limply down her back in its customary tail, the knot at the end already crusted with dust. It will need a good comb when she’s done here. Funny that she thought only this morning how nice it would be to let it down the way Tesleen wears hers. Pretty, but practical. Alisaie has always been practical. She hasn’t given much thought to pretty before.

“Oh, seven hells—”

She bites back a gasp even as she slips and an avalanche of pebbles slides out from beneath her feet. She clings to the side of the rocks, cursing her choices, her father’s disapproving voice in her ear, and hoists herself up one more ledge. And another. And another. Panting and with sweat plastered to her brow, she finally reaches her destination.

The curved rock that encloses the Inn at Journey’s End has no business having visitors on its summit. But she did—and the view is well worth the effort.

Humming quietly to herself, Alisaie sits precariously on a ledge and dangles her feet off the edge. Ahm Araeng stretches out before and behind her, its amber sands undulating in the scarlet haze. A great wave of white and grey obscures the horizon, the remnants of the Flood of Light towering higher than any peak. What must it have been like a hundred years ago, to see such a wave come surging across the desert, consuming all in its wake? When she was in Hingashi, she heard more than one terrifying tale of tsunamis roaring through the archipelago. She envisions it to have been somewhat like that, even though the tsunami in her mind itself is imagined.

She sighs, still breathless from her climb, and reaches for her water flask. With a quick twist, she releases the cap and tilts her head back, letting the cool water flow over her lips. The Flood of Light… Who knew so much harm could come from Light itself? Then again, just like water, a good thing in excess can be as dangerous as having it in scarcity. As with most things in life, balance is the key.

This world is out of balance. Stagnant. Corrupted. Stifled. Though its people have learned to move on, the earth itself is scarred and scorched and cannot heal. If only there was some enemy towards whom she could point her blade, then the heavens could turn and everything would be all right…

If only it were so easy.

“I would ask what you are doing all the way up here, but if truth be told, I’m a little afraid of the answer.”

Alisaie blinks, choking on her water as she is jolted out of her reverie. Coughing, she twists around to find Tesleen standing several fulms behind her, bright-eyed and smiling, her profile illuminated by the sky. “I…” She coughs against and lowers the flask. “I came up here to get some fresh air and to see the sights. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not.” Tesleen smooths down her grey frock and joins her on the ledge. Somehow, she is free of dust and sand. “Do you think there is something wrong with that?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

“You know, if you wanted to come up here, all you had to do was ask. The summit is easily reached by amaro or skyslipper.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “I know. But a challenge is good for me.”

Tesleen laughs, the graceful little trill cutting through the wind. She threads her fingers through her hair, winding and unwinding the long blonde strands, and looks out to the Flood of Light. “It’s worse from up here, isn’t it?” she says quietly. “From below, it’s so big it becomes part of the scenery. But from above, it’s…”

“It’s everything. Everywhere.”

“Aye.” She lets go of her hair, the strands now twisted into a little wavy curl pressing softly against her cheek. “There has been news from the Crystarium. Would you like to hear?”

Alisaie’s throat is raw. Stalling for time, she ducks her head and takes another sip of water.

If the news is from the Crystarium, then the news must be from the Exarch. And if the news is from the Exarch, then either something has happened to Alphinaud or one of the others or… or he has finally succeeded in his mission to bring Aureia to this world.

Her stomach drops, a flush of shame creeping across her cheeks. If it is true that he has succeeded, then she should be happy that a reunion is imminent. And yet the thought only fills her with dread. When last she saw Aureia, they were barely on speaking terms, their friendship hanging by a thread. Was it her fault, or Aureia’s? They had been so close, closer than friends, more like sisters, depending on each other and trusting one another unconditionally throughout their adventures in Othard and Ala Mhigo. And yet Aureia lied. She lied to all of them. She masked her origins for so long she could not live without the lie, even among those she loved.

The Warrior of Light, a former Garlean operative… It was not a truth easily acknowledged. It left the Alliance scrambling to save face, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn searching for answers. Urianger and Y’shtola seemed shaken. Lyse was furious. Alphinaud was absent and thus had no response. And Thancred, of course, accepted it without batting an eye and refused to do anything but stand by her side. But as for Alisaie…  

She felt something more than fury. Hatred? Disappointment? Betrayal? She doesn’t know. She said many things she wished she hadn’t that day. And in the year she has had to reflect on it, she is certain that she would have continued hating her friend—her best friend—had the Exarch not interfered and thrown them all into chaos by stealing Thancred away. She is not proud of it. She is not proud of the way the sting still lingers.

But it was only a matter of time before Aureia found her way here. Even if the Exarch stole the souls of the whole Alliance and every Scion to ever live to make it happen, she will be here, one way or another.

“Alisaie…?” Tesleen nudges her gently with her elbow. “There is no need to speak of this now, if you would rather not.”

Alisaie stuffs the flask away. “No, no. Please. Tell me.”

He dangling foot brushes Tesleen’s.

“The Crystal Exarch is sending someone to us. A new visitor, one he called a friend. She will be arriving anon, once she settles some matter in Kholusia.”

Settling matters… Kholusia… Alphinaud!

Alisaie smiles. So, it is Aureia, it has to be. She must have been informed of the whereabouts of Alphinaud and the others, and decided on who to seek out. Urianger is inaccessible on a good day thanks to Il Mheg’s peculiarities, Y’shtola vanished into the swamp and gods know where she is now, and Thancred is… about. And not easily tracked. Which leaves Alphinaud and herself. If she were Aureia, she would seek out Alphinaud first. Ensure he isn’t getting up to trouble before coming to see her.

She grins and makes a mental note to ask about him. Her twin is well—she would know if he wasn’t—but she won’t waste the opportunity.

“Oho! Is that a smile I see?” Tesleen asks, leaning in. She smells of the duskblooms she places in vases for her patients, and the stew she prepares at midday.     

Alisaie catches her eye and quickly rearranges her expression. “Of course not,” she says. “I never smile. I’m the image of indifference.”

“Ah. So that’s your stoic face.”

She grimaces. “It is not.”

“It is.”

She blows out a puff of air and crosses her arms over her chest. “By the Twelve, you don’t have to put it like that.”

Tesleen’s foot bumps hers again and they sit in silence, watching the sands sparkle in the Light. Thankfully the sky is clear and there have been no sin eater sightings of late. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend that this is an ordinary day, under an ordinary sun, just the two of them enjoying themselves and their time together. If they had brought a picnic, it would almost be perfect.

Almost.

“You say such strange things sometimes, Alisaie,” Tesleen says quietly. She has shifted closer in the passing minutes, her shoulder brushing against hers as she threads her fingers together in her lap.

“Like what?”

“The gods you swear by… I have never heard of them.”

Alisaie pauses. “How do you know they are gods?”

Tesleen shoots her a look. “I think anything that follows ‘by the’ may as well be a god, no?”

Alisaie scrunches her face and sticks out her leg, pointing her foot. “By my great shiny shoe, I don’t believe it!”

Tesleen’s lips twitch. “By the ant under this rock!’

“By the stone formation five fulms that way!”

“By the angry armadillos—”

“Ugh,” Alisaie says, wrinkling her nose. “I hate those things.”

Tesleen raises an eyebrow. “Armadillos?”

“Yes. Nasty, horrible creatures.”

“What has an armadillo ever done to you?”

“Nothing! Yet. I… simply do not like them.”

Tesleen pauses. Hesitantly, she raises a hand and brushes a lock of hair off Alisaie’s forehead. “Has anyone told you that you’re a peculiar girl?” she asks.

“Not recently. Or in memory. But I’m certain someone would say as much if you asked the right person. My brother Alphinaud is the un-peculiar one of the family. Me? I’m not so sure, but I—”

Tesleen presses a kiss to her lips.

Short and sweet, barely a hint of pressure, and yet somehow her stomach is in knots and her heart is fluttering. Heat flushes her cheeks and her head spins, as if she has shot up into the Light-corrupted air and is soaring through the sky. She wants to be anywhere but here, and nowhere but here. What will the others say? What will Alphinaud think of her wasting time on herself like this when she should be helping others?

She knows what he would say. He would be insufferably happy for her. She shouldn’t try so hard and take time for herself, find a hobby. Like he does. He’s an artist, for Twelve’s sake. Art is his hobby. Just as hers can, apparently, be kissing Tesleen—

Gods, her mind has stopped completely, hasn’t it?

Tesleen draws away. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “If I… if I was too forward, I do apologize. You are my dearest friend, and I would hate for a misunderstanding on my part to come between us—”

Alisaie blinks. “No!” she shouts. “Oh—ah—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I meant… Please don’t apologize. Don’t apologize…” She sucks her lower lip and catches Tesleen’s eye. Her hair glistens in the Light, fanning around her shoulders like strands of gold. Carefully, tentatively, she reaches out and presses a hand to her cheek. “What I mean to say is that I would hear no apologies from you. Not for something like that.”

Tesleen’s brown eyes widen. “Then…?” She lets out a long, shaky breath. “I admit, I have been thinking of you as… well, not just my dearest friend, but a little more than my dearest friend. Is that all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. Fear, perhaps, of losing something before it began. We all deserve happiness wherever we can find it, with whatever time we have left.”

Alisaie trembles, the sensation strange to her. Though her mind is still dazed and trying to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken, something about it feels right. Regardless of how little sense the world sometimes makes, she has always trusted her gut. Her instincts have rarely led her astray.

And so, despite the corrupted Light above, despite the Flood frozen on the horizon beyond, she twines her fingers with Tesleen’s and kisses her again. “We are going to have all the time in the world,” she says fiercely, her heart hammering joyfully in her chest. “I promise you that.”

She has made many promises before. Promises to her grandfather, to her parents, to her brother, to her friends. To the Scions, to the Alliance. She has sworn on them, staked her life on them, risked everything to keep them.

Of all the promises she has made, she has never been more certain in one than this one.

[orinthered]

final fantussy

[arianeoftheglade]

We all deserve happiness… wherever we can find it… The time left to you is precious … No one should die in pain …

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 21 - GRAVE

Tesleen's death was difficult for everyone at the Inn at Journey's Head, and it was especially difficult for Alisaie. Despite feeling shaken herself, Rhiki takes it upon herself to do something for both of her friends.

(I can't take any credit for this one! It was a suggestion by several people in the FFXIV OC Swap Discord channel! I really appreciate all of the help!)

Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Characters: Alisaie Leveilleur, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Word Count: 2,124 Content Warnings: Mentions of character death, mentions of body horror

Z’rhiki’s face was damp. It was damp with sweat, from the perpetual heat of the day as Mord Souq’s unforgiving, ever-present sun loomed overhead; with condensation, rising out of the cauldron as steam and clinging to her face as she hovered over it; and with tears, still slipping down her cheeks. Frustrated, she groped blindly beside her for the dishrag. Finally catching it in her fingers after a few probing attempts, she used it for what felt like the twentieth time to violently scrub the moisture from her face until her skin burned from the friction. Sniffling, she discarded the scrap of cloth once more and leaned back over the pot to check its contents. Good color, good aroma, good consistency. After another similarly disorganized scrabble for her ladle, she dipped it into the stew and brought it back up to taste. She hoped the saltiness came from the added ingredients and wasn't just the residual taste of her own tears, but if it did, it was perfect. She carefully removed it from the cookfire and began the process of cleaning up her culinarian accoutrements. She focused on breathing deeply and allowed the methodical motions of wiping and re-packing her items, then of portioning out the stew, to calm her so that she could keep her composure upon returning to the Inn.

With her supplies stored, the waste discarded, and the stew in thermoses lining her satchel, there was nothing to do but begin the short trek back.

It took her a few minutes to locate Alisaie after reaching the camp and setting aside her gear. She found her off to the side, in the shade of one of the massive stone crags that sheltered the camp. She was sitting with her knees hugged loosely to her chest, staring plaintively at the sandy ground in front of her but somehow giving the impression that she was looking at something much further away. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and Rhiki could see the salty trails of drying tears. She was sure her own face looked not much better, skin stinging and irritated from both the blazing sun and her incessant rubbing. Alisaie was no longer crying (and might deny that she ever had been, despite the obvious evidence), but the distant stare wasn’t much of an improvement.

Rhiki crouched down beside her. She reached out and gently touched the girl’s shoulder, causing Alisaie to at last tear her eyes away from the sand and look up at her.

“How are you holding up?” Rhiki asked softly.

Alisaie must have suddenly remembered the tearstains on her face because she reached up to wipe them away with one of her sleeves. “I’m… I’m alright." She inhaled shakily. "I checked on the patients, I helped gather and wash linens, I changed sheets and bandages, I sorted the larder, I carried supplies, I chased off some scissorjaws – I’ve done everything there is to do!” Cracks were forming in her voice as she spoke, “And it’s still not enough! Not even close! How can it ever be, when…”

Rhiki nodded, understanding. The grief was always easier when there was something to do. It was always there, lurking in the periphery, but at least if you were busy you could keep it at a distance. When there was nothing left to do, though, it would catch right back up to you. Alisaie had been in a frenzy, doing chores and running errands, ever since they had arrived back at the Inn at Journey’s Head to deliver the news of what had ultimately become of Tesleen – that her soul had been set free, and that the eater that consumed her would no longer tarnish her memory. It was partly to keep busy, Rhiki knew; focusing on the ways she could help so that she didn’t have to think about all the ways she couldn’t. But she suspected it was also Alisaie’s way of making up for Tesleen’s absence. Tesleen had always been hard at work around the Inn, performing whatever tasks were asked of her with a smile. Neither of them could replicate the glow her presence brought to the camp, but perhaps they could lighten the workload, at least for a time.

They couldn’t stay forever, though, and Rhiki had known that, at her frenetic pace, Alisaie would sooner or later run out of duties to perform. In anticipation of that, she had assigned herself a duty. It was small, but she hoped that it might ease Alisaie’s heart a bit. Her friend cared so much, and hurt all the more for it. But she never let the hurt stop her from caring. She deserved to have someone care for her every once in a while.

“C’mon,” She said, giving Alisaie’s shoulder a pat. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“Can it wait? I’m not really in the mood.” Rhiki could understand that. She was exhausted; they both were. She was weary and heartsick and fraying at the edges. Which was why it couldn’t wait.

That, and the stew would get cold.

Rhiki shook her head. “No, it can’t. But it won’t take long, I promise.”

Alisaie regarded her warily, but seemed to recognize the earnestness in Rhiki’s voice and in her eyes, and sighed. “Alright, then. What is it you have to show me?”

Rhiki stood and extended a hand to Alisaie, helping her to her feet. She led her by that hand out of the encampment and around the Inn’s outer edge. The sun still raged overhead, the heat making the air around them shimmer and warp. Even with the loosely-packed sand slowing their progress, though, it was not a long walk.

Soon, they reached a peaceful stretch of sand from which one could clearly see the standing stones that formed the walls of the Inn. Rhiki slowed, then stopped, and Alisaie stopped with her. She released Alisaie’s hand, and looked at the girl as the girl looked at her meager creation.

“Rhiki, what have you…” Alisaie trailed off. Rhiki was immediately self-conscious about the jagged, flat-faced stone she had salvaged from one of the nearby Nabaath ruins. Oh gods. This had been a foolish idea, she thought. She had totally overstepped, and hadn't even done a very good job. Why had she ever thought she should show this to anyone, let alone Alisaie?

It was just a piece of crumbling wall, but it was the nicest piece she could find, with one of its surfaces still smooth enough to carve on. She had spent hours trying to chisel a message into it, which had left her pouring sweat, with cracked palms and a sharp ache in her back. She had made her very best effort but, not having the proper tools for engraving stone on hand, her inscription had ended up rather crude, with its letters inconsistently sized and spaced. Though it was hardly a masterpiece, she was happy it was at least legible. Alisaie confirmed this when she said:

“This is for Tesleen, isn’t it?”

Her eyes followed the path of the chisel across the stone’s face.

TESLEEN

WE ALL DESERVE HAPPINESS, WHEREVER WE CAN FIND IT

Rhiki nodded reluctantly. It was for Tesleen, the kind and caring soul who had made them stew on Rhiki’s first night in Ahm Arang. Who had brought comfort to so many in the last days, even the last moments of their lives. Who opened her heart to the patients of the Inn with the full knowledge that at the end of their stay she would have to help them embark on the next leg of their journey. Who would see them off with a smile and the taste of their favorite food.

It was for Tesleen, but it was also for Alisaie. Her dear friend. The girl who strove with all of her might to make a difference, even a small one. The girl who tried, and tried, and tried, and kept trying when others lost hope – because even if it was hopeless, it was still better to try. The girl who cared so much it hurt. The girl who had grabbed her hands in front of the Aftcastle in Limsa Lominsa and begged Rhiki not to leave her alone.

They both deserved so much better than a chipped hunk of stone with a sloppily carved message in the middle of the godsforsaken desert. They deserved better than anything she would ever be able to give them. But at least she could give them this, what little it was.

“I-I know it’s not very good! I tried really hard, but you know my handwriting is terrible, even on parchment! I know that she should have something nicer – and maybe one day, when we fix all of this, we can make something better!” She could feel her words start to catch in her throat. “I know it’s not a proper grave, but one of the other carers - Willfort, I think – said that she cared about this sort of thing – about giving people the chance to say their goodbyes. So I just thought….”

She could feel the hot tears starting to form under her eyes. Alisaie had her face turned away, towards the stone, but suddenly Rhiki saw her shoulders begin to shake. She grabbed Rhiki’s hand again and squeezed. Her long braid jerked back and forth as she shook her head fervently. “No, no it’s not- I just- I…” Alisaie took a deep breath and tried again, this time looking into Rhiki’s eyes, tears already sliding from the corners of her own, “I think she would like it.”

Rhiki grabbed Alisaie and pulled her into a firm hug, feeling her shudder as she tried and failed to contain a sob. She held her there, and after a moment Alisaie returned the hug. She buried her face against Rhiki to hide tears that now fell freely, and Rhiki reached up with one hand to stroke her hair soothingly, though she had to sniff to force back her own weeping. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, only that she didn’t let go until Alisaie finally stilled, and eventually pulled away on her own. She looked like she was about to say something, but Rhiki spoke first.

“Here, I- It’s not just the stone. There’s something else.” She dropped her hands from where they had come to rest on Alisaie’s shoulders to open the flap of her satchel and pull out one of the metal thermoses she had stored there. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she carefully unscrewed the lid and placed the open container at the base of Tesleen’s memorial.

Alisaie was sniffling so much Rhiki doubted she could really smell anything, but she had obviously gotten a glimpse of the contents, because she almost laughed.

“Is that… stew?!”

Rhiki nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Rhiki do you have any idea how hot it is out here in the sun?” Alisaie’s voice teetered between laughter and more crying.

“I know!” Rhiki said, “But… I don’t know what Tesleen’s favorite food was. And this was what the three of us ate together when I first arrived… though it is a lot cooler in the shade…” She shook her head. “It’s a bit late now but… that’s what they do here, right? Send people on their way with the taste of happier days?”

This time it was Alisaie’s turn to nod, and her eyes welled up again as though she was about to lapse back into sobs.

“I brought some for us, too,” Rhiki continued hastily, fishing the additional thermoses out of the bag. “So, you know, we could share it. But you’re right, it’s scorching out here, so maybe we should just take it back to-“

Alisaie seized the soup and wrested it from her grip before she could finish. “No! I- I mean, you made it for us to share, didn’t you? So, l-let’s have a little of it here, shall we?”

“Okay.” Rhiki relented and took up her own container. “I, uh, forgot to bring forks or spoons, so you’ll just kinda have to….” She mimed tipping the thermos up as if to drink from it, and Alisaie laughed, though still had to pause to sniff the mucus from her sinuses. She did as Rhiki had indicated and tipped some of the stew into her mouth.

“Is it good?” Rhiki asked before she had even had enough time to chew, and had to wait for a reply.

After swallowing, Alisaie glanced back at her. “It’s great,” she said, taking a deep, quivering breath. “It’s perfect. All of it. Thank you Rhiki. Really, Thank you.”

Rhiki smiled fondly at her “It’s the least I could do. For either of you.”

[alicesadventuresinffxiv]

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #11

Title: Surrogate Hero

Wordcount: 542

Spoilers through: Early Shadowbringers

Relationships & Characters: Alisaie/Tesleen

Summary: Alisaie and Tesleen during a brief, peaceful moment of rest.

“If only I’d been faster. Stronger. Smarter.” Alisaie sighed and flicked a pebble off of the worn blanket she was sitting on and down into the red rock canyon below. “If only it hadn’t been me, but them. They would have saved the caravan’s goods too.”

“There you go again. Talking about that amazing friend of yours.” Tesleen giggled as she peeled another section off of the orange in her hands. “I’ll take your word for it, but do you know what I saw?”

“What?” Alisaie looked up.

“I saw two parents very happy their daughter and son-in-law came home this morning.” Tesleen held out the orange section. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I’ll never understand how you manage to find some silver lining in every cloud,” Alisaie grumbled as she took the fresh treat and popped it into her mouth. “I just fight monsters, and here I am complaining again. But you’re losing people every other moon. Yet you still manage to care about them, and you make it look easy.”

“Well, even if it looks easy, it isn’t.” Tesleen peeled another section of the orange for herself. She stared thoughtfully down into the canyon as she chewed. “A lot of the caretakers can’t stand it any more after a while, so they quit and go back to the places they came from.”

Alisaie brushed the crumbs of their lunch off her jacket and stretched. “Have you ever thought of leaving? I’m sure you could find a place at the Crystarium. Or maybe my brother might enjoy some company in his failed attempts to get into Eulmore.”

“Eulmore? No thanks.” The passionate caretaker made a sour face that had nothing to do with the orange piece she’d just bitten down on. “Besides, everything important to me is here.”

“Like the Inn?”

“Like you.” A playful poke at Alisaie’s cheek, which made the young warrior immediately blush. “And yes, of course the Inn too.” Tesleen smiled wistfully as she stared across the arid sands. “At different times, to different people, I’ve stood in for sisters, mothers, daughters, friends. Even if I couldn’t replace the ones they’d lost, even if I lost all those people themselves eventually, I think the time we did share together was precious. Isn’t it the same for you?”

“What do you mean?” Alisaie cocked her head as she began packing up the various tins and wrappers. 

“Maybe you aren’t the fastest or strongest or smartest hero like your friend. But you’re the hero that we do have.” Tesleen folded up the blanket they’d sat on for their short break and slung it over her shoulder. “So aren’t you glad you were there to help?”

“When you put it like that, I suppose I am.”  Alisaie clipped her rapier back to her hip and cast a searching eye over the path that continued onward through the rocky expanse. “Now then, we have a patrol to finish.”

Tesleen nodded and readied her own sword. In her first few years in Amh Araeng, she had dreaded the loneliness of clearing out this monster-infested route by herself. No matter how down on her own abilities she might be, Alisaie had changed that.

That alone was enough to make her a hero in Tesleen’s heart.

[jarael]

sorry

[fistsoflightning]

servant of death

ffxivwrite2023 05: BARBAROUS mercilessly harsh or cruel

lumelle’s having a really bad day. sorry. that’s on me. lumelle & emet-selch. 3401 wc.

i’m not sure how to warn for this, exactly? but CW for discussion & most of the actual task for what the carers for end-of-life patients at the inn do. i don’t think it’s worse than the SHB MSQ alisaie side but. yanno.

He was back again. Much to Lumelle’s personal dismay, he always seemed to appear whenever Alisaie left her side to go on patrol, which made it impossible to fully convince Alisaie of the presence of an Ascian—a Paragon—this close to the crystallized Flood of Light. At least he didn’t seem interested in doing harm to anything other than Lumelle’s sanity, and at least his presence here in the kitchen meant he wasn’t off harassing A’dewah in the carer’s dormitory.

Lumelle took a deep breath, and looked away from Emet-Selch sitting on the kitchen counter beside her cutting board as if he were Elwin and not a full-grown man in a hoity-toity, heat-trapping robe.

“Get off the counter before I decide to chop off your fingers and use them as eater bait tomorrow,” she said evenly, gripping the bone handle of the knife in her hands tight as she continued to cut up the last harcot for the topping.

“So barbaric,” Emet-Selch sneered, but he did get off the counter, if only to loom over Lumelle as she continued her work. Lumelle had never particularly begrudged her Elezen-typical growth spurt not happening on time or quickly—even now she was only a few ilms taller than she was two years ago—except for when he did that just because he knew she hated it. “And even beyond your propensity to threaten violence and enact it, you seek to kill your friends before they become foe. Hardly becoming behavior for a hero such as yourself.”

“Whatever, Solus.” Lumelle took the biggest chunks of the harcot that didn’t look mangled and set them aside on a plate—the rest she stuffed into her mouth and chewed angrily before she wiped off her hands and turned to pry open the lid of icebox. The rule she had set for herself repeated in her head: don’t let the Ascian win. He wants you to flip out.

Emet-Selch didn’t seemed so easily deterred today—or was it tonight? His shadow fell over her as she got the heavy, ill-fitting lid off the icebox and pulled out the chilled jelly with its accompanying jar of lemonette syrup. “I thought you would leave the dubious honor of such dirty work like cooking to your fellows. That Hume girl, if not your precious Scion. Feeling guilty, mayhap?”

She swallowed some of the harcot—made a reminder to herself to ask Rhon Ron if he had any more left to sell, because these were really good—and looked up at him. “You’re in my way. If you really want to observe, get out of the kitchen.”

His face twisted lightly with—disgust, maybe? Lumelle couldn’t really tell; he looked at everything like that, save maybe when Lumelle caught flashes of him watching her cut through swathes of sin eaters, sitting bored in the distance with a stare sharper than any blade. Whatever it was, it was only there for a fleeting moment before he moved towards the kitchen doorway and said, “Do finish chewing before you say anything else. I have the time.”

“My etiquette teachers would say the same,” she said, mouth still half-full. Don’t bow your head; keep breathing normally. She put the lid back on the icebox, hoping whoever needed it next would be able to get it open, set the jelly and the jar to the counter, and then pulled out the key to the locked drawer she’d borrowed from Tesleen. “I used to listen to them—when I was seven.”

Emet-Selch scoffed. “And how long ago was that, three years?”

Lumelle snorted—she might have been angrier, if she’d not spent most of her childhood expected to hold herself in a manner befitting a full-grown lady of the house and now found being childish almost refreshing at times—and stuck out her tongue at him with her smile oddly stretched from the lump of harcot she was holding in her cheek. The petty joy of getting someone incomprehensibly ancient to stoop to arguing with her was about the biggest win she was going to get out of parleying with Emet-Selch.

“Still here?” she asked, twirling the key on her finger. Usually Emet-Selch would scoff and disappear back into the aether after Lumelle got him to stoop to playing along with her conversation instead of whatever he wanted.

Not now, though.

Emet-Selch snapped his fingers, and a chair appeared beside the doorway for him to sit in, crossing one leg over the other. “Of course,” he said, that perfectly-rehearsed smile that reminded Lumelle of the lords and ladies back home settling onto his face. “I meant what I said—I have plenty of time to chat. It’s not as if you Scions have made any dent in my plans, and at the moment I find this part of the ruined star particularly intriguing to watch.”

Lumelle swallowed the rest of the harcot to keep from frowning. She didn’t want Emet-Selch to see the contents of the carer’s kitchen drawer, but she had little choice in the matter; he really was intent on seeing this part of Lumelle’s misery through.

She should have just stabbed him when he approached her after that cursed sin eater hunt, no white auracite be damned.

Unlike everything else in the Inn’s kitchen, this drawer still worked almost as well as the day it was built. She slid the key into the lock and turned it without needing to use her strength like earlier with the icebox, and opened the drawer to see the contents split evenly between the carer’s stock. The glass bottles clattered with the movement, some rolling around freely. Lumelle’s eyes drifted to the folded piece of paper underneath the vials on her right.

She reached in and pulled it out. Unfolded it.

Dosage suggestions based on food type, amount, & patient body weight.

“And lo, the valiant knight turns her blade against those she swore to protect.” Emet-Selch sounded so damn smug, narrating from his shitty little chair; maybe he’d done it before from his throne in Garlemald. Lumelle wanted nothing more than to get her sword and pin him to it through the stomach. “Mayhap a situation not so unfamiliar. I recall Ishgard determining her heretics based on a whim quite often.”

Lumelle bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, the juice from the harcot still sticky on her tongue making it sting. “I never swore anything. Stop talking so loud,” she grit out. Which carer wrote this? They had the smallest handwriting Lumelle had ever seen, so teensy she almost felt the need to squint to read it. In liquids & syrups, one-fourth jar, 100 to 115 po—

Emet-Selch kept talking at her. “An oathless knight. How pitiful. Even the knights of Voeburt at least had some civility and honor about them,” he said. “Though I suppose what little honor you had left you over a moon ago.”

“I’ll show you honor,” she muttered, wrinkling the slightly-yellowed paper between her fingers from how hard she was pressing them together. She hated this—she hated him. What did she ever—why did it have to be—why couldn’t he just go bother—

Lumelle rubbed her eyes hard with her free hand when the letters on the page blurred and tried to hide the moisture on her wrist, pretending it was irritation from the light sandstorm. No. This was fine. An Ascian? Psh. He could be doing this to A’dewah, and then she’d feel so much worse. He could be in the Crystarium with Elwin and she wouldn’t even know, but he was here.

She could be making lemon waffles instead of jellied harcot. She could be standing over a grave wondering how she was ever going to look at Alphinaud ever again. Maybe she was still really mad at her, but at least she was here. At least she could still—

I was fine! You should have stuck to the plan! Do you not trust me?!

“Having second thoughts?”

“About thinking you had anything important to say, ever? Oh, sure,” Lumelle snarked, reaching into the drawer for the right bottle only to pause when the glass frosted over near where her fingers were. After a moment she grabbed it anyway, barely feeling the glass in her palm, and hooked the ring of measuring spoons on her pinky before she shut the drawer with her hip.

“Please,” Emet-Selch drawled, his voice practically dripping with venom. Lumelle wondered, briefly, how Urianger’s research into making white auracite with Il Mheg’s prismstone was going. “Everything I say and have said is naught but the unvarnished truth.”

That was what Lumelle hated the most. She took one last look at the chart before she folded it back up, looked straight at him, and said, “It’s certainly not winning you any points with me. Would it kill you to be kinder about it?”

As those last few words left her mouth, she knew at once that she’d fucked up.

“Hah. Kinder, like you believe yourself to be?” Emet-Selch gestured to his side, hand waving through the doorway and down the hall leading to the patient’s ward. “A sugary lie will not suddenly make you a hero, nor stop the Light’s work. You chose to leave the girl’s side. You chose to abandon the plot laid out by your dear. You chose to leave her like this—allowed her the long defeat of transformation rather than swift mercy at your hand. And now you will prove yourself cruel yet again—at her weakest, you will deliver her poison and end her. What kindness could ever reach something as awful as you?”

Her vision blurred again as she looked down at the counter before her, where she put the vial of poison and the measuring spoons. In her mind, she knew she couldn’t take anything he said to heart, that he only wanted to hurt her for whatever dark purpose he was here for. He had done it before, out on the sands when she’d stayed behind to make sure the horde would stay away, and Lumelle had let him. She had let him now, too. She thought she was ready for it this time.

It hurt more than the force of that dhruva-shaped sin eater’s crystals slamming into her when she’d chosen to protect Alisaie over Tista-Rae; the hurt swallowed her, so large and there that she couldn’t decide whether to get angry and scream and rage or cry or curl up into a ball about it before she was there again.

The hunt.

The Inn at Journey’s Head was essentially a field hospital. Lumelle had followed Alisaie here after the Exarch brought them and Elwin across the rift, and she’d known by the end of their first day that they wouldn’t hold up against any real force. She’d heard of bigger Ishgardian encampments getting burned to the ground by hordes of aevis and diresaurs and biasts before anyone could call for the Knights Dragoon, and they didn’t make new dragons every time they killed. She and Alisaie could do some real damage, especially with A’dewah there to back them up, and some of the carers knew the basics and acted as guards—but the sin eaters. The hordes they would hear about, sometimes, at Mord Souq when they were getting groceries.

Lumelle might have been raised in Ishgard and faced off her own hordes for her city, sure. This world still found new ways to scare her.

Tista-Rae had smiled and told her to keep her chin up. To keep doing what she was doing, culling as many sin eaters as she could on patrol with Alisaie. She’d come from the Crystarium when Lumelle had written a strongly worded request to the Exarch with a few others and said she’d get the carers swinging swords like Lumelle in no time. She’d even made time in her day to help the patients get more active, fighting off that plastery stiffness awaiting them the only way she knew how.

They still weren’t ready, when it was clear they had to go hunt the largest group down. There were so many.

In the sea of white-white-white, Lumelle didn’t have the time to figure out which sin eaters were the really bad ones, the ones that could turn people, which meant she was just cutting through as many as she could. She was sweating through the scarf tied over her face to keep the dust and ichor from getting in her lungs, her mouth. Someone was screaming. Their line had been pushed back to forty yalms from the Inn. Tista-Rae and the Crystarium dispatch were fighting with her, in the center of it; her sword was almost glowing full white and dripping when she looked over her shoulder back to A’dewah and Alisaie.

She didn’t even remember what she saw, what was happening, if Alisaie was actually in as much danger as Lumelle thought—only that she felt the panic take her and ran towards them, Tista-Rae shouting her name, and didn’t get her shield up in time to block the crystals. The one that would have hit Alisaie hit her instead. Thank Hydaelyn for the Blessing of Light.

And at the end, after Lumelle had dove back in to finish her job slightly worse for wear, Tista-Rae had ruffled her hair and said, I getcha. Just give a girl a warning next time, hm?

Her arm was bleeding, Lumelle remembered. She’d wrapped it up with a ripped-off piece of her Elven partner’s cape. She wasn’t wearing her Crystarium guard chainmail because she had to send it back for repairs.

She’d been doing well. Tista-Rae had been smiling and laughing and dancing for a week or two after. Lumelle almost believed it.

Then she’d got sick so fast.

The other carers were worried it had been from ichor poisoning, but Lumelle knew. Not how she was okay for so long—but she knew the bandages in the bins were hers, knew her sword hand was her left and not her right even if she was ambidextrous, knew it was—what she could have—!

She came back to herself and chose anger.

Lumelle slammed her hands down on the counter, hearing the spice bottles rattle. Pain lanced up the heels of her hands and up her arms.

“Maybe what I’ve done and haven’t done is cruel. Maybe I’m cruel,” she spat, refusing to look at Emet-Selch again and feeling that same impossible coldfire in her stomach as she did facing the Warriors of Darkness, listening to J’rhoomale speak so easily of poisoning Alisaie and then daring to shoot at Elwin when Lumelle was right there, “but it’s a damn lot kinder to give them a chance to die as themselves rather than sit there, knowing their body will transform painfully and their mind will shatter from the twist, and do nothing but wait to let it happen.”

She waited for Emet-Selch to find his next venomous arrow, for the fire that drove her to drink dragon’s blood to be fed. Waited for the pain to come again.

When the silence kept stretching longer and longer like caramel strings, Lumelle opened up the jar of lemonette syrup—she bent the metal lid in her hand and winced—and measured out the right dose with shaking hands. If he said anything else, she really might do something bad, so maybe it was for the best.

The rest she did feeling distant from herself, every glass and metal thing she touched frosting over; the poison went into the jar, a spoon came out from another drawer, clattered on the jar’s rim as she mixed the contents in a rush. The syrup didn’t look any different as her hands poured it over the jelly already in its dish, and probably didn’t taste any different; the carers said the Crystarium put extra work into making it tasteless for them. Lumelle, knowing Tehra’ir personally, wasn’t as certain, but she didn’t want to think about everyone’s last meal never getting to taste right.

Only when she was putting the harcot slices on the top did she remember Emet-Selch’s unusual quiet.

She looked up again, setting the spoon into the jelly dish with a clatter, and found the Ascian staring blankly up at her… or through her? Whatever Emet-Selch was seeing, it wasn’t her or her anger; he might as well have been on another shard.

She just had to walk through the door and she’d be fifteen steps away from Tista-Rae’s cot, another ten to her longsword, but Lumelle knew better than to turn her back to an enemy—much less an Ascian—unarmed and alone.

“Well? No more ‘truth’ left in you?” Lumelle leaned forward to prop her elbow on the counter to hold up her head, feeling more furious and vitriolic and awful the longer Emet-Selch sat there staring a hole in the side of her head. Something about his face seemed so… wrong. “Say something, damn you. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

It was as if he suddenly wanted to shatter everything Lumelle knew about him. He opened his mouth, eyes refocusing on her, but no words came. His mouth shut, and his once smug expression now looked like he was angry. Like he had any right to be.

Without so much as another word, he raised his hand, and with a wave he disappeared.

Well. At least she could let her eyes brim over with tears in peace now.

“Damn that bastard. Damn this stupid shard. Damn the Light,” she muttered, sniffling and trying to wipe all her tears away as they came only for them to freeze on her hands. Her anger shoved up against something in her heart and turned into the deep need to curl up in bed and spend the rest of the day crying, but she still had a dessert to deliver. Usually Alisaie or Elwin helped her pull herself back together, but Alisaie was still so mad at her and Elwin didn’t even know how bad a day she’d been having, from the carers telling her it was Tista-Rae’s time to go and Alisaie arguing with her to Emet-fucking-Selch showing his stupid face here.

What was that rhyme Tesleen told her about, again?

Warrior of Darkness, servant of death, take care of our souls at our dying breath...

“Let sinners and eaters of sin go with thee.” Lumelle sniffled a few more times, cringing at how awful her voice sounded now. Did she actually yell earlier? She hoped she didn’t. Elwin always said—he said that she got scary when she yelled now, after the whole thing with the real Warriors of Darkness back home. That turning into a dragon for a little bit might not have actually been for just a little bit. “That all may return to the sunless sea.”

She took another deep breath. Exhaled.

Could a Warrior of Light be gentle about death? Could she?

Her hands were hurting from how cold they were, she realized; she brushed her frozen tears off onto the tiles. There wasn’t really a mirror anywhere in the Inn, as no one wanted any of the patients to accidentally see themselves, panic, and possibly turn, so she’d just have to hope she looked acceptable. Carefully, so she didn’t break anything else today, she picked up the jellied harcot in one hand and walked through the kitchen doorway. Emet-Selch left his little chair—it was actually padded, he’d put that much thought into it—so she grabbed it with her other hand and dragged it with her.

Fifteen steps, and she was by Tista-Rae’s bedside. Her dusty-pink hair was down from her bun, turning white at the roots and the tips, and her eyes struggled to focus on Lumelle when she turned the chair around and sat down next to her.

“Hey,” Lumelle said past the lump in her throat. Her hands and her voice didn’t shake as she watched Tista-Rae smile up at her distantly, nor when Tista-Rae glanced at the chilled glass in Lumelle’s hands and her eyes cleared, just slightly, in realization; she refused to let them. She had to face this with her eyes afraid and awake, even if it hurt. “Sorry I took so long. Are—are you feeling up for dessert?”

[kcucretsulf]

Tesleen, the Forgiven

Holminster Switch - Level 71 Dungeon - Patch 5.0 Shadowbringers

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

got to the part where he invites you to amaurot. still obsessed with it. "when it all becomes too much to bear, seek me out in my abode ... there, you may complete your descent into madness with some dignity, far from prying eyes." fucking incredible. god he is so fucking normal about you

[dragoon-mid-jump]

Me, going through Holminster Switch, getting a feel for the Trust system again:

Me, seeing the boss named "Tesleen, the Forgiven":

"...OW."

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 07: Morsel

alisaie has some soup. tesleen makes a friend. alisaie x tesleen. shadowbringers spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: general 967 words ao3 link

Steam wafts upwards through the air, carrying with it the scent of simmering stew and baking bread.

Tesleen hunches by the fire and stirs the pot, pausing only to wipe sweat from her brow. It is a quiet evening at the Inn at Journey’s End—all evenings are quiet, truth be told—though it is strained with an odd tension. Has been since this afternoon, even the patients have felt it. The girl’s arrival was an interruption to the regular routine; she thought at first that it would be one-off situation, but she has made it clear that she is going to stay.

So clear, in fact, that the room may still be ringing with her voice.

Tesleen wrinkles her nose and cautiously peers through the steam, hoping she won’t notice her staring. Alisaie is… strange. She walked out of the Fields of Amber with no cloak, no supplies, no water, shielding her face from the wind with an aura of magic around her fist. She was half a malm from the Inn when a sin eater descended from the sky. Scouts had reported sightings of it; they knew it was in the area. Had they known a stranger—a girl at the end of her teen years, to boot—was about to arrive on their doorsteps they would have sent a message pleading with her not to come for her own safety.

Alisaie made it clear she did not need anyone looking out for her safety.

The desert hummed with magic, the air twisting with strikes of veraero and verthunder. The sin eater wailed, caught in a sizzling web of verfire and verstone--and then a flash of scarlet and it was dead on the ground. Another soul lost to the Light, freed to move on. Alisaie sheathed her sword and shrugged off the fight, continuing through the ands as if nothing had happened.

But they all saw what she did. They knew what she was capable of.

Tesleen welcomed her at the front gate, accepted her introduction, and told her to rest while dinner was prepared. She did as she was asked, but in the strangest way—listless, impatient, twisting her hands together as she paced to and fro, as if filled her thunder spells had filled her with energy that had no way out. Even when she eventually found a spot to rest, she crossed and re-crossed her legs, her whole body jittering as if she could not sit still.

She is still there now, gazing around the Inn, her eyes flicking back and forth so as not to stare for too long at the patience. Though her pale face is sunburnt, her skin is ashen, as if the sight before her disturbs or pains her. Even so, her confidence and her skill with magic and a blade is to be commended. There is something admirable about this girl who dragged herself through the desert and never sought to complain.

Tesleen presses her lips together, hesitating for the briefest of moments before she fills two bowls with stew, grabs a couple of dinner rolls, balances them in the crook of her elbow and marches across the Inn.

Alisaie flushes with embarrassment when she sees her coming and stops fidgeting. “Oh,” she says. “You didn’t have to—”

“You’re a guest. Please, it’s the least we can do after your journey.”

She pauses. For a moment, Tesleen wonders whether she’s going to argue and insist that she can’t accept the offer, but then she smiles brightly and takes the bowl. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.”

They eat in silence, sitting side by side on a little out of the way bench. Alisaie lowers her spoon slowly at first, but after the first bite her eyes light up and she devours it at once. She tears the dinner roll in two and uses it to scoop up the remains of the soup, humming happily to herself. The rolls are a treat, baked with flour made from Kholusian grain. It’s rare for them to get their hands on it—Eulmoran customs and taxes, or so she hears. But they are sweet and sturdy little things, not unlike the girl currently devouring hers.  

“Mm… s’rry,” she mumbles, her mouth full. “…is… delicious… I… ‘ad… no idea…”

Tesleen laughs and breaks open her own roll, spreading morsels across her soup.  “My mother’s recipe,” she says. “It’s a favourite with the patients, too. You should try it like this, with the roll broken on top.”

Alisaie swallows and coughs, pressing a hand to her chest. “Well, I say your mother is a genius. I haven’t had food that good since… well. It has been some time, let’s say. A far away place I’m not likely to go back to soon. It reminded me of that. I would love to thank her some day.”

Grief aches in her heart, a sharp stab like the edge of a blade. “Thank you. I would pass along the message if I could.”

Alisaie’s eyes widen in horror and she presses a hand to her mouth. To her credit, she does not look away, like so many do. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says quietly.

“It was some time ago, but thank you…” Tesleen puts down her bowl and folds her hands in her lap, her shoulder brushing against Alisaie’s as she moves. “I don’t believe I introduced myself properly. My name’s Tesleen.”

Alisaie smiles. “I’m Alisaie.”

“You are.” Tesleen’s lips quirk. “You said so before.”

“Did I? Well—”

She bursts out laughing. Alisaie stares at her for a moment, shocked, and follows suit. Their laughter rings out across the Inn, filling the large, cavernous space with its sloping rock walls.

And for a moment, however brief, all is right with the world.