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morganali-writes · 6 months ago

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Wedding WIP

Filling out a character meme had me thinking about this WIP that I've had sitting unfinished for over a year now apparently. I will come back to it, but this is where it's at so far ✌️😴

“And we definitely can’t just elope?”

Artoirel dragged his hands down his face and sighed, otherwise not moving from where he lay on the chaise lounge.

“As terribly tempting as the notion is, I can think of at least three to four individuals that would be furious should you run off and wed without their knowledge or involvement – to say nothing of my own family and the expectations therein.” Cessalie slumped further into her wooden desk chair with a groan.

Tataru would have my head, tis true – and Alisaie might never forgive me. Gods, what a nuisance.” Long moments passed, with naught but the ticking of the mantle chronometer to fill the space.

‘I have… a suggestion,” began Artoirel, only moving to raise a finger to emphasise his statement. “Chapel wedding, witnesses and small wedding party only, reception for family and close friends at the house afterwards.”

Cessalie looked at him with a thoughtful frown on her face, then rose from the bureau to sit by his head on the chaise. He opened his eyes to look at her as she began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“That sounds… that might be tolerable.” Artoirel huffed a laugh.

“Tolerable is a good start. I daresay we have the beginnings of a plan.” Cessalie looked down at him with a wistful smile.

“Yes… Yes alright. Let’s make it happen.” She paused a moment and grimaced. “Just as soon as I drag everyone back from the First.”

-----

It had been one thing after another without ceasing. Getting everyone safely home had been an ordeal to begin with, but gladly they had all awoken back in the Source with relatively little incident, all things considered. Hardly had the scions recovered before they were making their separate ways across Eorzea – treating with diplomats and developing cures for tempering, which turned into treating with pirates and kobolds for a united La Noscea.

Not literal moments had passed as that whole business concluded when the towers began to appear across the land – and with them, the Ascian and his pet primal. This heretofore unknown Ascian – Fandaniel – arrived at the palace in Ala Mhigo, announcing his plan to trigger an end to all life on the Star.

After that, of course, things had begun to happen very fast. They treated a millennia-old dragon for tempering. Immediately they were then flung into another conflict to protect the Amalj’aa, and to strike down Fandaniel’s primal pet – Lunar Bahamut. They had won the day, but Arenvald had been gravely injured on his mission with Fordola, and Alphinaud was quietly in a state about it.

And now, at the last, Krile was off on a voyage to treat with Sharlayan directly. For a moment at least, there was naught else to do but await their answer to her petition for aid.

Cessalie was feeling impatient. Perhaps a little selfish. Just for once in her life she wanted something for herself and every moment waiting felt like seconds lost before the next crisis overtook them.

“My, what a dark cloud that is hanging over your head! I’ve never seen such a frown.” Flinching at the sound, Cessalie looked up from where she sat at one of the tables in the Rising Stones – suddenly very conscious of how cross she must have looked, and how far she had slid down in her chair.

“Oh, Tataru. Pay me no mind, I was just thinking…” The scions’ ever diligent secretary hopped up onto the seat adjacent to her. “How long do you suppose it will be until we hear from Krile?” Tataru crossed her arms and her expression turned thoughtful.

“That’s a good question. Krile said it could be a few days for her to get back to Sharlayan, and Gods only know how long it might take her to get an audience with the Forum.” Slowly Cessalie nodded to herself.

“So perhaps there’s time then…” she murmured. Tataru tilted her head quizzically.

“Time?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, now that everyone is back home –” Cessalie stopped, and her eyes slowly widened as a thought occurred to her. “… And now I think of it, you may be just who I need to help me achieve it.” Looking around furtively to make sure there were none to overhear, Cessalie leaned in.

“Tataru – I need your organisational expertise. Can you keep a secret?” The lalafellan secretary nodded eagerly, her interest piqued.

“How do you feel about planning a wedding?”

-----

It had been a near thing, corralling Tataru’s excitement before she aroused the suspicions of others – quiet though the Rising Stones was at the present. Expectations now tempered, the two sat in the otherwise unoccupied Dawn’s Respite. There was a decidedly mischievous glint in the secretary’s eye as she began preparing an itemised action list.

“I cannot overstate this enough Tataru, but we do not want a big event. If we could run off and elope without censure, we probably would have done so already.”

“Right, right, not to worry, Cessalie!” she grinned. “I’m sure I can wrangle a chapel and a priest at short notice… Now, have you given any thought to who you want to attend?”

“One or two witnesses. Artoirel’s family of course. Laniaette. Perhaps the twins… I daresay they could both use some levity.” Tataru nodded absently as she jotted down notes.

“Mhmmm. And for a reception afterwards?”

“Ugh. I barely know where to begin. Artoirel suggested something small at the Manor for family and close friends, perhaps?” The lalafell nodded.

“I can work with that. I’ll speak to the Count and get his thoughts. What about a dress?” Cessalie groaned and dropped her head to the table with a light bump.

“I don’t suppose I can get away with my Holy Day best, on this occasion.”

“What Holy Day best clothes do you own? And no, the one dress that you wore to dinner with Aymeric does not count.” Cessalie moaned petulantly.

“Oh, Cessalie, you haven’t thought this through at all.” Otherwise not moving, she raised her index finger in a point.

“No, no, I have – at length.” She grumbled into the table. “And while I do yearn to tie hands with my, ah, lover in an official sense – the rigmarole around doing so drives me well and truly up the wall.” Tataru smiled and gave Cessalie’s hand a sympathetic pat. She turned her head to the side on the table to face the secretary.

“You know as well as I that Ishgard’s stock in propriety and public perception are as ingrained in the nobility and the Halonic Orthodoxy specifically as they are in Ul’dah. For every good man in the city, there is another looking to advance his own station at the expense of someone else’s misfortune.” Tataru nodded in agreement.

“Ishgard is certainly just like home in that regard.”

“I’d just as soon as say hang the lot of them, but I’ve had the dreadful misfortune to fall in love with a Count – so there are at least some token matters of ceremony that needs must be performed to satisfy the powers that be. The old order might be changing, but it is a slow and onerous process.”

“Misfortune? I know you don’t mean that,” Tataru said with a wry smile, and Cessalie huffed a laugh, sitting back in her chair.

“No, you’re right… I’m very lucky, I know it. Bless you for humouring this fit of childishness.”

“On the contrary – I should thank you for opening up and asking for help for once!” she said, a pointed look on her face. Cessalie laughed as she placed a hand over her heart in feigned woe.

“Oh! You wound me, Tataru – but I cannot say that you’re wrong.” Tataru grinned a wicked grin.

“And as you said, you’ve come to the right person – leave everything to me!” All of a sudden, Tataru leapt to her feet, standing on her chair with her hands on her hips. “Just you watch – by day’s end I’ll have everything in place to see you wedded before the week is out – on my honour as the best secretary in Eorzea – No, on the Star itself!” Cessalie chuckled helplessly and Tataru levelled a determined look at her.

“Ready your things, and meet me at the Bonanza,” she ordered, before jumping from her seat and making for the door with haste. “We’re going to Ishgard!”

-----

“Cessalie? What’s going on? Are you alright?” Alphinaud’s anxious queries began the moment she came into earshot. Alisaie stood beside him, arms folded.

“Tataru bustled us out here without a word of explanation, only that you needed our help,” she said with a shrug. “Obviously we’d be glad to give it, but I should like to know what grave and terrible business you’ve roped us into now.” A look of disbelief crossing her face, Cessalie looked to Tataru – who waved back cheerfully from the deck of the Bonanza. Sighing, she turned to the twins with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry, it is hardly as world shattering as what she might have led you to believe – but I am glad you’re both here.” Taking a deep breath, she looked to both of them and took their hands in hers.

“I am… getting married,” she said, with all the weight of someone bearing a most dire missive.

“What? To whom? This all seems rather sudden.” Alisaie’s eyes were round with disbelief – and while her brother was no less surprised, the delight that lit up his face was unmistakable.

“Oh, my friend! But this is wonderful news!” he said, clasping her hand in both of his.

“But who is she marrying?” Alisaie said, gripping his arm.

“Why, the Count de Fortemps, of course.” She squinted at him, confused.

“Lord Edmont? He’s rather old, isn’t he?”

“Oh gods.” Cessalie’s mind raced as she stared into the middle distance.

“No, no, Lord Edmont has retired – Lord Artoirel is the Count now,” Alphinaud affirmed with a knowing air. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, the pretty one. You’ll forgive me if I can’t quite recall clearly – I was recovering from being poisoned for most of my brief stay in Ishgard,” she retorted with a dry huff.

“If we can focus, please,” Cessalie said weakly. The twins startled to attention.

“Yes of course – my apologies, my friend.” said Alphinaud.

“And mine,” followed Alisaie, sheepishly. “I admit I am a little shocked, but you deserve all the happiness in this world. I am glad for you, truly.” Alisaie squeezed her hand and stared back at her with solemn eyes. “What would you have us do?” Cessalie looked at them both in turn with a wistful smile.

“Truly, I’m just glad you’re both here – you’re so young, and we’ve been through such horrors together. For once, I thought it might be nice if you joined me for a joyful occasion.” Both twins looked up at her with baby coeurl eyes, speechless.

“That being said,” she said as she clasped their shoulders and gently urged them towards the Bonanza before any one of the three of them started weeping in earnest, “I am sure that Tataru has all manner of important tasks for you both – Our chief of organisation is in charge today.” Alphinaud laughed heartily.

“Of that I have no doubt – let us be about it then!” he said, and Alisaie nodded, punching her fist into her hand in emphasis.

“Come on then, you lot!” Tataru called to them, motioning them to board the airship. “We’ll talk about plans on the way!”

-----

Pausing mid-quill stroke, Artoirel tilted his head curiously, wondering at the sound that had broken his concentration. Some sort of commotion on the street perhaps? He shook his head and resolved to pay it no mind, turning his attention back to the missive he had been penning.

Before he could put ink to paper once more, he found himself out of his seat – the sound of quiet footsteps tapping their way ever closer down the hall. He was halfway to his office door before her gentle knock came.

“Cissy?” he breathed as he pulled open the door. Miracle of all miracles, there she was – smiling brightly at the nickname.

“I thought I— ough,” he said as she all but launched herself at him, catching him tightly about the waist. He laughed and brought his arms around her. “And I am very glad to see you also, my dearest. What occasion brings you home so suddenly?”

“Ah, well,” she said, casting about for words to say as her face flushed a rosy hue. “The occasion is you and I, I suppose. Let me explain—” she put her hands on his arms as if to steady him, before he could even begin to process her words. “Have you kept abreast of the latest regarding the towers?” His brow creased in a frown, and he nodded.

“Yes – I was relieved to hear of your victory at Paglth’an, though I admit I have not had a chance to read the report in full.”

“No matter, let me catch you up,” she said, ushering him back across the threshold of his office.

Some minutes later, Cessalie stood before the armchair he occupied (the one she usually favoured when she was home) and regarded him with a thoughtful expression.

“The Sharlayans have ever been isolationists, do you think they will respond favourably to your suit?” She sighed and hung her head.

“It would be a lie if I said I believed they’d lend us their considerable knowledge willingly, but for the moment, there is nothing for it but to wait until Krile sends word.” She stepped into the space between his knees and reached to brush a lock of hair behind his ear.

“It might be a few days, perhaps a week or two before the next crisis is upon us – which,” she gestured quietly for emphasis, “brings us back to the purpose of my visit.”

“I’ve been thinking about your suggestion,” she glanced away, bashful once more. Puzzled, Artoirel reached for her, tracing his fingers along her jaw.

“My suggestion?”

“Of a chapel wedding,” she clarified in a rush.

“Oh.” Artoirel nodded in recognition, then stopped as understanding dawned on him. Oh.

“Every time some new crisis happens I’ve been thinking on it, actually – thinking about when we’ll finally have the time to plan in earnest.”

“Cessalie,” he said, though she did not seem to hear him.

“I know it’s rather short notice, but if the Star should be engulfed in fire on the morrow, I… I should rather like to face it at your side, so to speak.” Taking her hand, he gave it a gentle tug.

“Cessalie, come here.” She blinked and focused on his face, before smiling sheepishly and letting him pull her into his lap.

“You wish us to wed in only a few days?” he asked, a little incredulously, though the corner of his mouth twitched. She looked back at him with those solemn, dark eyes.

“If you would consent to do so,” she replied gravely.

“Dearest Cissy,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her forehead. “I believe—yes. Yes I would.” She huffed a relieved laugh, then pulled him in for a kiss.

“Good. I’m glad. Thank you, Artie,” she said, tucking her head under his chin like a contented cat. Helplessly he shook his head and laughed.

“I can think of nothing I would like to do more, although – the logistics arranging things at such short notice may prove tiresome indeed.”

Cessalie quickly sat up, a mischievous smile upon her face.

“Ah, but I have enlisted help, you see.”

“Have you, now,” he said with a chuckle.

“I have – only the finest receptionist on this very Star, amongst other capable sorts,” she said as she scrambled back off his lap and pulled him to his feet. “Come along, I left my guests at the mercy of your father in order to fetch you – we ought to see to them before they send out a search party.” Artoirel let her pull him out of his office with a wry smile.

“Very well – let it not be said that the Count de Fortemps is a poor host.”

-----

In seemingly no time at all, Tataru had outlined a plan and allocated tasks for everyone – presumably there had been heated discussions with the former Count while she had gone to fetch Artoirel. Had she more time to ponder it, Cessalie might have felt a sudden unease as to Tataru’s own grand schemes – but for the moment, there were a laundry list of things to be achieved.

Artoirel, Alphinaud and Tataru had stayed behind at the house – with their combined organisational and diplomacy skills, as well as a wealth of institutional knowledge, they were committed to arranging the logistical side of things. Cessalie had been given blessedly little to do, comparatively – though, Tataru had insisted, no less important.

As she and Alisaie bustled out the door, she thanked the Gods it was clear day – customarily chilly as Ishgard always was, but otherwise as pleasant a day as was otherwise possible.

“Where are we headed?” Alisaie inquired as they made their way across the promenade.

“The Jewelled Crozier may be the best place to start, though I’ve a mind to enlist another for our excursion.” Cessalie stopped then at the entrance to the Haillenarte manor and addressed the steward there.

“Good morning, may I enquire if the Lady Laniaette is at home today?” The steward smiled at her.

“Ah, Mistress Sombreterre – you are in luck, she has just recently returned from Cloudtop to visit with the family, shall I announce you?”

“Wonderful! If you would be so kind,” she said, face lit up in a smile.

“This way, if you please,” he said with a bow, before ushering them inside.

Minutes later, Laniette came bounding down the stairs in a fashion some might have called unladylike.

“Cessalie!” she exclaimed as she strode across the parlour to wrap her up in a friendly embrace. “Gods, what luck – I feel as if we are always missing each other.” Standing back, she then noticed Alisaie at her side.

“Oh, forgive me, welcome to our home – You have the look of young Alphinaud, but I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.”

“You have the right of it,” Cessalie said, putting a hand on Alisaie’s shoulder. “Laniaette, I’d like you to meet Alisaie Leveilleur – Alphinaud’s twin sister, and dear friend and associate both.” Alisaie flushed red, then made to bow politely.

“Alisaie, this is Laniaette – she became a dear friend to me during our lengthy stay in Ishgard.” Laniaette smiled brightly.

“Delighted. Now that we’re all properly introduced, what brings you to visit this day?”

“I was hoping to beg a favour, actually,” Cessalie began with a sheepish look. “I’ve been tasked to find a nice dress to wear, and I’d rather hoped you’d join us.”

“Ah, dress shopping, my old enemy,” Laniaette sighed, then looked to her with a wry smile. “Of course I shall – I may not relish the task, but I know a good few tailors, and there is the Crozier besides. Dare I ask, what is the occasion?” This time it was Cessalie’s turn to blush. She tilted her head to the side, considering her words.

“Well…” Alisaie sighed impatiently, rolling her eyes.

“She is to be wed,” she said with a huff. Laniaette blinked in surprise, her mouth parting wordlessly.

“I beg your pardon? When?” Cessalie grimaced.

“Within the week, Gods willing.” Laniaette raised her brows at that. “Which reminds me of another favour I had yet to ask – It is to be a small affair, with very few guests – I was hoping you would consent to be one of my witnesses.”

“Hardly a favour at all, it would be an honour my dear—wait. Oh, no.” Cessalie nodded gravely, as Alisaie regarded them both with a puzzled mien.

“We do have to invite Artoirel’s family, Lani.” Resigned, she hung her head.

“A favour it is then. But you still need a dress – let me fetch a warm coat and we shall be off at once.”

#cessalie sombreterre #artoirel de fortemps #ffxiv #wolartoirel #wol x artoirel #WIP

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morganali-writes · 2 years ago

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Out of Reach

Despite the strained nature of their relationship, the household had never been so sombre than it was now that he was gone. Haurchefant had been better than all of them, and it had taken Artoirel far too long to appreciate that – appreciate the brother he wished he had accepted long ago, in spite of his mother’s wishes. Maybe still, his brother would have stepped in front of the bolt meant for the Warrior of Light, and maybe still he’d despair at words left unsaid – but for the chance to share words with him again all the same... but these were idle musings born of regret and helplessness.

Artoirel leaned his brow against the cold windowpane and exhaled in a huff. Ishgard was in a right state between the downfall of the late archbishop, and the revelation about the true origins of their thousand-year war. They had barely even begun to put the city-state back on its feet. Were it not for the Lord Commander’s tireless efforts to maintain order, he would scarce know where to begin.

Sighing again, Artoirel hauled himself upright and aimlessly followed the hallway towards the library. As he walked, he was brought out of his own musings by a plaintive voice. Curious, he drew closer, though hesitated at the threshold.

“Miette, please come down. Come now, sweetheart – I shall catch you.” There she stood, the Warrior of Light herself – far above her on the highest shelf, a black cat wailed pitifully. “I cannot fetch you by myself, Miette, please...” she all but begged, then hung her head with a loud sniff. Cursing quietly under her breath, she pushed a palm to her eye.

“Cessalie?” her name was across his lips before he could think better of it, and she startled as if guilty. He made his was over to her and she hurriedly wiped at her eyes. “That is to say – are you well?”

“Oh, quite well, never better!” she said, the forced smile she wore not reaching her eyes.

“Your furred companion seems to have gotten herself stuck,” said Artoirel, eyes flicking briefly to the stranded cat. Cessalie averted her gaze and grimaced.

“She has long had a dreadful habit of climbing higher than she can comfortably descend from herself,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Usually rescuing her is not terribly troublesome, but today...” Cessalie squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. “I find she is out of my reach.” Looking between her and the cat, understanding dawned on him.

It was hardly the first time the cat had gotten stuck up on the high shelves – in truth, it was a near weekly occurrence. And for all those times Miette had found herself so far out of reach, it had been his brother who was ever on hand to mount a rescue. Many a time he had watched, bemused, as Cessalie had all but scrambled up his brother in a manner not unlike climbing a ladder. Theirs had been an easy camaraderie, and for the few months since the Warrior of Light and her comrades had been taken in as wards, house Fortemps was the liveliest it had ever been.

“Forgive me – I understand you were quite close to my brother.” Cessalie shook her head sadly, eyes downcast.

“He was—He was family,” she all but whispered, before glancing up at him, brows knit in concern. “I should be the one to be sorry, he is your brother, after all.”

“I—thank you. I regret that I was not closer to him.” She nodded sympathetically. Moments stretched between them as they cast about for words to say. After a while, Artoirel found his eyes drawn back to the cat, whose cries for help were growing more insistent. He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps I may be of assistance?” he asked tentatively. She looked up in genuine surprise.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you–“

“There is no imposition you could make that would trouble me.”

“I – thank you. You are kind to me.”

“Not at all. What would you have me do?” she looked thoughtful for a moment, then climbed up onto a low table.

“Kneel here, if you please.” Artoirel took a knee by the table, and she gingerly perched herself on his shoulder. Instinctively he brought his arm around her skirts to steady her, and she reached for his other hand for balance.

How is she so small? He wondered absently as she settled herself. That the same woman as had laid low a half-dozen Primals was now sitting upon his shoulder like a sparrow beggared belief.

“Is this alright?” she murmured, and he found himself squeezing her hand in reply.

“Perfectly so.” With a grunt, he hoisted himself upright again.

“Let us be about it then,” he said, walking them carefully back over to the shelf. It took some cajoling and manoeuvring to retrieve the wayward cat – Miette was decidedly unconvinced by Cessalie’s new assistant. Eventually, with Cessalie balancing precariously on one of his hands like a step, and his other bracing her from falling, she managed to lay hands on the cat directly – scooping her up in one practiced motion.

Tucking the cat into the crook of her neck with one hand, she reached for his shoulder for balance again as she eased herself back to a sitting position. Dainty fingers dragged momentarily against the skin of his neck as she righted herself, and he drew in a quiet, surprised breath. After a moment, he walked them back over to the low table, and she hopped down from his shoulder.

“Miette,” she said, directing her attention wholly on the troublesome kitten. “I have told you not to climb so high, you little menace.” The cat chirruped indignantly in response. “Many times I have told you, don’t argue.” More chirping came in response, and Cessalie butted her forehead against that of her furred companion. “Silly thing. You’ll never learn.”

Artoirel could not help the soft smile that crossed his face as he watched them. It was a side of Cessalie he had only observed from afar. There was a softness usually held fast beneath a calculated façade, though around his brother she had let her guard slip. Haurchefant’s congenial demeanour tended to bring that out in people. Would that he possessed the same talent for putting others at ease, but instead he wore solemnity like a shroud – for ever had he been burdened with the lofty expectations of their House.

Belatedly, he realised that Cessalie had been staring back at him. Startled, he blinked and averted his gaze from hers. Had she been blushing? He ought not to consider it. He heard her quietly clear her throat, and he looked to her once more – only to find that she had lifted the little, black cat up to his eyeline.

“Oh!” Miette meowed loudly in consternation.

“Miette would formally like to apologise for the trouble she has caused this evening, if you can find it in your heart to forgive her.” Artoirel huffed a surprised laugh.

“There is nothing to forgive, save the grief you’ve caused your mistress,” he said with a smile, leaning in for Miette’s inspection. She sniffed the air about his face for a few moments, then tentatively licked the tip of his nose. The rough texture of her tongue caused him to scrunch up his face, and he laughed again. “Very well Miette, you may have my forgiveness – but see that you are better behaved in future.”

Miette made a puzzled sounding chirp. Cessalie lowered her once more, tucking the cat against her chest. Artoirel reached down absently to gently scratch under Miette’s chin.

“Mrrp!” the cat’s eyes closed in contentment. Not taking her eyes away from Miette, Cessalie smiled.

“Oh, I think you’ve quite won her over,” she said. He smiled at that.

“Glad I am to hear it.” The moments stretched in silence. He took a breath.

“I should… I have some matters that I must attend to,” he murmured, excusing himself. “But should you again require assistance, please do not hesitate to seek me.”

She looked up at him with her solemn, black eyes. She was silent for a moment, brow knit with some inscrutable expression. A small smile stole across her lips, and she nodded.

“Thank you, Artoirel. I will,” she said.

#cessalie sombreterre #artoirel de fortemps #ffxiv #this has been sitting on my desktop for a month and I forgot about it #it's post Thordan but pre vault solo duty #everyone is still in grief mode #now that there is a moment's peace to grieve #it's 1.30am and I have not edited this enjoy 😵#wol x artoirel #wolartoirel #pre relationship

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