#speaking of him. it's the man himself next! emet-selch

[brineffxiv]

Understanding hurts. He was just a little guy, and was doing his best to save his people, even though he could barely remember them.

Is that enough? I don't know that it's enough...

That does seem the most likely explanation. I've thought about it quite a bit, why would Emet-Selch make a plan to assist me in taking down Elidibus? And the best answer I can come up with, was that it was an act of compassion for his friend. He knew how fraught and lonely their struggle was, and he knew both who and what Elidibus was now and who he used to be. And he would have known how impossible that struggle would have been for Elidibus on his own. Emet-Selch was the ancients' last true hope for restoration; without him the fight would be an exercise in cruelty, for both sides. And so, knowing there was a legitimate chance I could kill him, he put contingencies into place for the constellation crystals to make their way into my hands.

The big outstanding question I have is, was that really him, or was it a shade he had constructed of himself? I lean towards it being a shade, just on the gut-feeling that it would be easier to attach a synthetic entity to the crystal than it would be to summon his soul from the aetherial sea. Also, if his soul could be called so easily, one would think it would be prudent to plan to restore himself to life. But then, there's quite a lot I don't yet understand about life, death, and rebirth in the world of this game... so perhaps there is still a chance it was actually him.

Oh, hi Beq Lugg. Sorry if I don't seem too excited: I've just been through the emotional wringer.

You don't know how big a relief that is to hear.

That is significantly less of a relief. I'd thank you all to stop talking before you give me an ulcer from the stress.

...I will not cry again... I will not cry....

My friends all have business to tie up and goodbyes to say before I take them back to the Source, so off they go. Alisaie invites the Exarch and I to accompany her to see Halric one last time. From there I travel to Eulmore to see Alphinaud and the Chais and continue the Exarch's tour of the realm.

Next stop is Il Mheg, and Urianger, who has found Ardbert's soul crystal, and bids me deliver it to Seto...

Where this beautiful interaction takes place. When he closes his eyes, Seto can sense Ardbert within me. And somehow, Ardbert is able to speak to him, one last time.

And I cry. Again. The crying just won't stop.

In Slitherbough, Runar begs Y'shtola to stay, which isn't possible. But he thanks her for everything, and Y'shtola swears that she will find a way to travel between the worlds and come back again. Because there are too many mysteries here yet unsolved.

On to Amh Areng, where I catch up with Ryne and Thancred on their way back from saying their goodbyes. And hey, a mention of Gaia outside of the Eden raids!

Finally we head back to the Crystarium, where Ryne gives us a truly touching goodbye. And Thancred finally tells her just how proud of her he is. Good man, Thancred.

And then the whole of the Crystarium is there to see us off!

And to give me a final message for the Exarch. They have learned what happened to him, and what is about to be attempted, and they are sending all their love and confidence that he will be fine. I promise to give it to him when he wakes.

And then we are off... to the Source!

.

.

.

Ah. This is probably a good place to stop this post.

.

.

.

Okay maybe not just yet.

Yes. That is the perfect image. It will live in my heart as a beautiful memory of Shadowbringers.

*cries some more*

#ffxiv liveblog #rhesh'a tag #y'shtola rhul #beq lugg #emet-selch #elidibus #crystal exarch #g'raha tia #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud leveilleur #urianger augurelt #thancred waters #ryne #lyna ffxiv #shadowbringers #baseless speculation #thoughts on lore

[thelaughtercafe]

Discoveries

Tea Type: Subtly Sweet Tea (Fluff with a sprinkle of mean/mocking teasing)

Potential Triggers: Nothing except suggestive tickling, and speaking of it!

Pairing: Emet-Selch/Reader, eventually Ascians/Reader

Length: 935

Summary: A tickle fic with the Ascians because I couldn’t help myself. Reader is Azem, but they’ll go unnamed. Each Ascian will get their own oneshot, so far it’ll be Emet, Lahabrea, Elidibus and Fandaniel and then I may have a timeskip to an Emet/WoL scene, in the future. I am now caught up with Endwalker but wasn't at the time so apologies if anyone seems ooc. I may rewrite it later on to update it.

“You put in quite a peculiar request at the Bureau of the Architect, I hear.”

You whirled to glare at Elidibus before averting your eyes dismissively, already on the defensive from where you had once been enjoying your afternoon tea in peace.

“Oh? And how would you know such information? All creation matrix are to be private unless otherwise allowed by the creator.”

“Oh come now. You needn’t be so shy. I think it’s adorable .”

Despite the seemingly kind words, they were biting and mocking, thick with judgement.

You opened your mouth hesitantly, trying to think of what to say next when a smooth voice interrupted.

“That’s quite enough mockery Elidibus; I do believe one of Lahabrea’s pets has gotten loose and is seeking to devour the other. A tragedy, to be sure.”

You heard Elidibus scoff before he left without so much as a nod at Emet-Selch. Said Ascian shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Such discourse. Tsk tsk. Very unfitting of the Emissary in our ranks don’t you think?”

“You didn’t have to protect me. I could’ve handled him, really.”

Your voice was soft, but only out of anxiety. Emet-Selch was typically the one person you didn’t have to be anxious with, but given he stood up for you that meant he knew exactly what you were being taunted for.

“Please just tell me no-one else knows. Please.”

A beat of silence and you heard him sigh as he joined you on the couch, creating a cup for himself as well.

“…No-one else save the 3 of us are aware, to my knowledge. I already erased it from the records. But; I feel I have the right to ask.”

You knew he would. You tensed expectantly, eyes locked on the now empty saucer and cup on your table.

“…We’re both adults Emet. Please, for all of creation, don’t make me say it aloud. I’m mortified enough as it is.”

“Elidibus is wrong about a lot of things. He wasn’t about this.”

That made you look at him in shock. His eyes and voice were both too gentle to be lying.

“You talked about it together?!”

He nodded, smiling ever so slightly at your shock.

“He meant what he said, you know. His tone came out as such because he was both nervous, and slightly annoyed you weren’t looking at him. I can read the man like a book by now. He knew he messed up which is why he fled. He was blushing darker than you are right now as I pointed out what he was doing. It really is adorable.”

The mischief you were worried about seeing from him jumped out as he tried to clamp down on the grin tugging at his lips.

“If you wanted to be tickled all you had to do was ask, you know. Either of us would’ve been happy to. Lahabrea too.”

You gave him a deadpan look at Lahabrea’s name and he snickered.

“Lahabrea had better not know about this. He’d never let me live it down.”

“Oh come now I’m sure he wouldn’t mind!”

Emet-Selch chirped way too happily for your liking and you groaned.

“…He already knows, doesn’t he?”

He smiled, unflinchingly.

“I may have caught him getting a glance at the book before I could get rid of the evidence so in all likelihood yes, especially given the grin that lit up his face.”

“Kill me now.”

You let your body roll to the side so you could rest against him, hiding your blushing face in his robe.

“I’m fairly certain he’ll take care of it for you ere long. Knowing him, he’ll likely corner you once he has a plan in mind. My assumption is he’ll pretend he doesn’t know until you accuse him yourself.  You know how he is, always keeping the ace in his pocket.”

You risked a glance at him, slightly amused as you began to relax thanks to his nonchalance.

“…Any chance we can teleport him elsewhere for an impromptu vacation? Or maybe you feel like helping me get something embarrassing about him in turn?”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head as he looked down at you from the corner of his eye.

“Sure. I could . But I assure you wielding such information against him would only serve to set him on the warpath against you, and if you think him cruel now in his machinations what he next inflicts will make the prior child’s play in comparison. He may not show it; but he does actually like you, as all in the Covenant do. He just shows it in the most obnoxious way conceivable.”

Emet’s grin turned sharp suddenly.

“Forget tickle machines - I’m quite sure literal tickle monsters would be much harder to contend with, combat prowess or no.”

You tensed up as he brought it up explicitly, pulling back to pout at him.

“Why do you have to say it? You know how flustered I get. Mean.”

He snickered at that before shrugging.

“Not my fault you make it so easy. I propose an idea. Why not choose between the 3 of us? That way you at least won’t be ambushed out of the blue.”

You reeled back in shock at that.

“Who-Who said they’d even want to? Or that you would for that matter?!”

He rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance.

“I assure you; I do, as do they. And even should they change their mind, they may decline when we gather to tell them your choice.”

His eyes twinkled in amusement, and he patted your cheek patronizingly.

“Do choose wisely.”

#tlc: tickle fics #tlc: subtly sweet tea #ffxiv tickle fic #emet selch x reader #emet selch x you #elidibus x you #elidibus x reader #lahabrea x you #lahabrea x reader #final fantasy xiv tickle fic #fandaniel x you #fandaniel x reader #female reader #tickling #tickles #tickle #ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Gpose based on song from Spotify 2023 top songs!

Number 3!

“it hurts to say goodbye it always will, but before grief took root, love grew here first.” -v.j.markham

Shadows Withal by Soken

There are no lyrics to this piece but it works for this scene wherein Emet corrects Anthea’s radio, because he has to listen to it too and despite it all really they both care for one another deeply. Find a little written piece below the cut!

Anthea looks out at a barren white landscape beyond the floating image of Zodiark still locked away, and out to the blue planet while their mind wanders and gets immersed in the soft music playing. It had been awhile since they took the time to stand on the balcony and listen to their radio from the days of old. Their companion felt it a bit frivolous to make such a machine with Anthea’s creation magicks, a worry that it would take away from their “limited” supply and at the time the two were helplessly watching the second rejoining, not knowing how it would effect their work. It didn’t, his worry was exaggerated, but Anthea wonders if it was that he just felt saddened he couldn’t contribute, his memory and knowledge lying within the realm of academia. Anthea was just as guilty though, they knew their creation would forever play the same dozen tunes, that not all would be in their complete state, and all the same genre for others were too faded in their memory to warrant a place within it. They sigh, “Maybe you were right my companion, ‘twas too frivolous of a creation.”

Below a man with white hair and golden eyes leans against the blue building taking advantage of the shadows and his dark robe to listen along to songs that take him back to an office, the home of a friend, and his own peaceful nights when he could put down all the responsibilities of Emet-Selch to be Hades for just awhile. Nostalgia kicks in and his shoulders hang as he does his best to ignore the urge that calls for him to reach out to his friend and maybe, just maybe, be able to talk to them like the two used to do. Emet-Selch sighs, it would never be as it once was, too much time had passed and there was no turning back on their choices that they believed to be the right ones. So instead he stays below and listens with eyes closed putting himself back in days long gone when he would do work silently while Anthea sat on the bench between two bookshelves and braided flower stems occasionally humming to what he played.

A fine memory….and one he’s yanked from when the piano chord is out of tune. And then the next one and the one after that, something he wouldn’t have noticed had it not been one of his favorite pieces. He shakes his head, “Still letting your doubts affect your work after all this time my friend.” He pushes himself from the wall, focusing on the object and in his mind’s eye finding the things he needs to alter the tunes. He pulls forth memories of all the songs he’s heard, ones he knows Anthea’s heard, some that they loved, and one that always seemed to play when the two found peace in his office, raises his arm and snaps.

The scratching and static that comes from the radio makes Anthea jump as they stare at the object. It shouldn’t be possible that a signal is lost or interrupted on this barren land and yet the radio acts like when a different researcher would come into the Akademia Anyder and find the music not to their liking. It’s only a few seconds and it settles on a song they hadn’t heard in ages, one they opted to not include when making the radio. A soft tune with a slow baseline and piano that sounded like wings in the air. A small smile replaces the confusion and Anthea listens to their song. The song that still makes their eyes mist over from the memories, but one that also fills their heart with warmth. Anthea looks over the moon once more with a sigh speaking softly, “You’re out there somewhere Emet-Selch, I know you are.”

The man leans against the building once more crossing his arms in satisfaction, mumbling, “There. Isn’t that better, Anthea? Now we can both enjoy some of that peace like we used to….”

“I thank you for the corrections and maybe one day we can sit upon this balcony in silence enjoying the other’s company….”

The two hang their heads and silently say, “For I miss the friendship we once had.”

#thank you! sorry took me awhile but I couldn’t decide which scene to do #I had another in mind but this scene and moment haunts me and makes me sad for their friendship #also hard because it’s a song with no lyrics haha #anyway I hope you enjoy it! #brotp: both the cat and the owner #endwalker spoilers #my screenshots #my writing #anthea oc #emet selch

[azems-familiar]

am i.....writing more emet-selch angst again? maybe.

-

The air in this pocket Emet-Selch has created to host Amaurot’s reconstruction is humid and smells of salt. He has grown used to it over the years - after all, he has spent much of his time since he built the city within its confines, whether pacing its streets or sleeping away the hours until his next distraction or duty - but it is not what he would consider, by any definition of the word, soothing. Even though he can navigate these blocks with his eyes closed; even though the Light is distant and as near to comfortable as it can be, in this drowning shard.

(It was comfortable when he wandered the Crystarium after its Lightwarden had been banished and the stars spread across the sky once again. It was comfortable in the Exarch’s personal quarters, tangled in the sheets with his body a warm weight across Emet-Selch’s chest, regardless of how heavy the crystal pieces were. It was comfortable - and it went directly against his duty, a foolish decision he had known would only make this worse when the time came for their final moves. And yet he had not been able to stop himself, vaunted self-control or no.)

The Warriors - of Light, of Darkness - will come. They had killed Vauthry after wading their way through many of his forces, the Light from each vanquished eater clinging to their straining souls. Lelesu had attempted to absorb Vauthry’s aether and had begun to shatter for it; Corrain, in his panic, had tried to take some of the aether from her and had also lost control. And Emet-Selch had watched it all happen from a vantage point above, a knife twisting in his chest again and again.

All he had asked - all he had asked - was that they, together, be enough to contain the Light. That they prove themselves possessed of the strength of will of their former incarnations, that the strength of their aether be more than the average half-man’s, that they lend credence to his hope, that wild and desperate flame he had been unable to help feeding. Watching Lelesu and Corrain interact, with each other and with the world around them, had so quickly driven away his doubts, but in the end what a fool he has been, daring to believe them anything other than shattered shards. How could they understand what they, and he, have lost when they do not remember? Despite all the nights Lelesu sat with him and listened to him speak on Amaurot and its history, despite the meals and moments shared with Corrain in the Cabinet of Curiosity, despite all the moments he had allowed himself to see the flickering brilliance of their souls and let himself imagine - they do not remember, and they refuse to understand. 

But they will come. He knows them; they may be broken shards, mistakes, mockeries of all he has loved and lost (though can they truly be worse than these phantoms he has populated his Amaurot with?), but they yet retain the nobleness of heart that made Azem so excellent at his responsibilities and brought Seleukos to be Pashtarot’s successor. The moment they realize there truly is no cure for their affliction, they will wish to separate themselves from their friends and allies and the innocent civilians of the Crystarium, and they will come.

He believes that Lelesu, at least, will too strongly want answers to refuse his invitation, even should there exist some miraculous way to save their souls.

#ramblings #ffxiv #my writing #he's already having a great breakdown and we haven't even gotten to the part where he thinks about having kidnapped his boyfriend LMAOOO

[tidalcove]

‘five times’ drabble + kissed for emet ( to establish lore:tm: you said but it was for another character and i ended up not shipping that so here we are ) // not accepting. @amaeranthos disclaimer: not all of these take place within xiv. hopefully the ones that do is obvious.

i.    the woman twists the stem of the flower gently between her fingers, her pale, blue eyes quietly admiring the beauty of it as its white petals shimmer under the moonlight. flowers were often said to symbolize reunion, lovers exchanging flora as gifts after long periods apart being a well known tradition. it reminded me of you, is what dōnghuā imagines emet-selch would say if he wasn't so...well, himself: grumpy and utterly stubborn in regards to engaging anything that proved he was capable of being affectionate. the thought nearly makes her smile and she can feel him studying her, his quiet judgement loud as she meets his surly stare with her own stoic one.

her head tilts in slight amusement, the silken strands of her hair cascading into her lap like an inky black pool, before she leans towards him and plants a soft kiss against his cheek. when dōnghuā pulls back, she silently laughs behind her hand - enjoying the way he flusters and blushes from her touch as she began to sign to him, letting her hands speak the words she could not say: i've missed you too.

ii.    her eyes glance over the copies of clones that fill the lab, a sickness building in the depths of her gut as 'solus' rants and raves about a long dead city and its forgotten people. she barely registers when he finally stops and reaches for her, desperate yet gentle, as he takes her hands in his and lightly kisses the knuckles of her hands. and for a small moment, she forgets - forgets that he's built an empire off the deaths of thousands and has no plans on stopping. 'celeste' closes her eyes and slips a hand away from his own...before swiftly backhanding him across the cheek and spitting at his feet. silence and sharp, heavy breathing fills the lab until one of his gloved hands reaches up to softly touch his burning cheek almost out of pride. a smile, beautiful and wicked, blooms across his face once he finally looks down at her and she's never felt sicker.

iii.   he is the sun: hot. blinding. temperamental. something she shouldn't look at too long. he will burn her in the end; it's a fact that she knows it to be true the first time she steps out to greet him in curiosity. the hunter will always seek to trap the fox, to claim their prey as the prize ( but which is them is really the hunter? ). there is a thrill to the hunt, of letting him think he's in control as his mouth explores her body and her claws gradually dig into his own. blood is drawn the deeper she digs in, yet the man's kisses don't stop - even when she grips his heart and rips it clean from the clone's chest. her lips curl into a small, chilling smile as she observes the beating heart in her hands before tossing it into the snow for the little ones to find and eat later. he'll come back - he always did. dōnghuā looked forward to the next round of this excitedly.

iv.  she is the moon: cold. bright. distant. the two stare at each other from the ballroom, her pupil-less eyes never leaving his while she watches him smugly swirl a glass of wine as he studies her back. somehow, someway she feels like she's known this man her entire life - and that only makes her want to run away from him as far as she possibly can. yet she remains unmoving, letting him take her hand in his while she partially disassociates while back in his orbit. the crowd clears but its hard to focus on their individual faces before her attention is drawn back to him. he tilts her head up towards him before softly kissing her and she knows this has happened before but can't quite place the when. nor the why or how. it doesn't matter because it's over as quickly as it began, almost as if he was only give her a taste. the man's hands rise to the chest before signing to her, almost like the act was more tender - sacred - than speaking the three words she would understand just as easily: you are mine.

v.   dōnghuā watches passively as he struggles against the cruelty of the snow, the rest of his kind dead at her feet and his every step of his slowed by the frost that was building up his body. the sound of wolf howls echoed in the wind and golden eyes look at her with disgust and hatred as her children began to draw near for dinner. they would eat him then come for his kingdom next; she had told him not to step into her forest. the spirit raises two fingers, her index and middle, to her lips and softly kisses them - marking his fate with a simple flick of her hand as she blows the kiss to him. she turns away from him then, her work done as she disappears into the blizzard. all that's left is him and circling wolves.

#i've never read em*twol content a day in my life. but i don't think my interpretation of this ship vibes with most of fanon lol #and dōnghuā is mute/only signs #asks. #blood // #violence // #idk what else to tag i'm not good at triggers lol

[afangirlsmuse]

Her Words

Inspired by the lovely @winternightjewels ficlet in response to the prompt I left her, “Don’t be what they made(make) you”. This is a follow up story with my own Azem, Calliope.

Written entirely on my phone. Please forgive any mistakes. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

She had always wanted to introduce her “Words” as they had taken to calling themselves, (for they were,in no way, being paid in any official means by the Convocation nor did they have any official tie to Amaurot) to her husbands. So despite the hurt from her latest censure, she accepted it with all the grace she could muster, deciding that she would use this as an excuse to do just that.

Her “Words” (really just her friends) knew much and more about her husbands, for she always filled their time traveling together with talk of them. It was purely by accident that her husbands knew nearly nothing of them. Every time she had thought to speak of them, Hythlodaeus or Hades distracted (was distracted truly the right word for being so delightfully enraptured between them she could hardly form coherent words let alone sentences?) her.

She sat her husbands down insisting they speak. Hades wore his usual stoic expression, though his brow furrowed a bit more than usual, with what she could only hear in his aether as worry. Hythlodaeus sounded much the same though his expression gave little away. Their thoughts and expressions clued her in to the fact that she may have been *too* insistent. She gave a small smile to attempt to ease their worries. Her husbands found themselves subjected to a crash course in her friends for the rest of their evening. 

They left the city the next week after her friends called on her for help. There were strange magical phenomena on a remote tropical island, the leylines and flow of aether becoming visible. It would be the perfect occasion for her husbands to accompany her, without her feeling like she was being chaperoned. 

———-

Her friends were certainly a…colorful group. Emet-Selch soon realized that there really wasn’t an exaggeration in his wife’s depictions of the eccentricities of her companions. They gave him appraising looks and for the first time in years Hades felt the need to hide himself behind his wife and husband.

“Oh my goodness Calli! I honestly can’t believe you’re letting us meet them!” A younger women nearly screeched. She had short blue black hair blue tinted skin, and horns that grew from her forehead. A historic concept that had developed souls and been allowed to roam the star freely just as Amaurot constructed. A Tiefling, he believed they were called. 

“I’m Phoebe!” She said brightly. “And you must be Hythlodaeus and Had- oh, er, sorry! Emet-Selch right??” She turned to Azem for assurances that she didn’t offend. He would let that go since she did correct herself but chose not to spare her a correcting glance. 

Then there was the rather tall voluptuous woman beside her. She was very clearly a Satyress,a concept that developed souls. A familiar clung to her shoulder in the form of a small ape. She smiled, her expression hinting at a mischievousness that only his wife could have influenced. 

“Oh it’s so nice to meet you *Hades*. Oops.” The nonchalance with which she used his true name irked him, to which she apparently delighted in. 

“And you Hythlodaeus. Calliope has told us so much about you. I’m Anemone. And this is Mister” she gestured to the familiar on her shoulder, scratching at its belly. The tiny creature was packed with fire aspected aether, it made Hades wonder how they were not feeling the warmth the small creature should have been giving off. 

“Oh I think you have picked on them enough.” Came the low drawl of the lanky young man beside Anemone. He possessed the subtle bovine features of a Firbolg, another ancient concept that developed souls. Grinning, he leaned on the crude staff he possessed. “Dimitris” he introduced himself, tipping the brim of his hat to Hades and Hythlodaeus. 

The last of the bunch was not a historic concept but a young man with an instrument strapped to his back. He bore a haughty smirk as he nodded to the two Amaurotines. “Orpheus.” 

“Well!” Their wife clapped her hands once and turned on her heels to face them. “Now that introductions are out of the way, we have gifts for you!” She all but chirped. 

Hythlodaeus was intrigued, “oh?” 

“Yep!” Phoebe chimed, as Anemone dug into an enchanted bag that could hold more than its small size let on. The satyress produced two sets on finely crafted light adventuring gear. 

With a snap, Azem was no longer in her robe and mask, but in gear that appeared to be of similar make to that she was presenting them with. Hades couldn’t help the roll of his eyes. He was about to protest until he saw the aether woven in the gear. 

“You made these without magic.” He said matter of factly, with almost the hint of a smile. 

She nodded, “Yes, well I didn’t want the potency of the aether in some of the material to be lost in the manipulation, so it just takes better to hand crafted enchantments as opposed to the innate enchantments of creation magic- I’m rambling.” She pressed a set into Hades arms. “Yours will bolster your defensive magic and can store aether to be channeled in a way however you choose.” She released the set of armor with the plant of an innocent kiss on his cheek. 

Taking the other set from Anemone, she took it to Hythlodaeus. “And yours allows is designed to amplify and focus your control over ambient aether.” She smiled proudly, leaning in to kiss her other husbands cheek and whispering in his ear so as to not embarrass him, “it will also make manipulating aether easier.” He smiled warmly at her and gave a kiss to her cheek of his own. 

———-

They were all seated around a table on the ship, (which her husbands were quite surprised to find out she and her friends owned) sharing a meal. 

As the current conversation lulled to a close, Hythlodaeus spoke up. “If I may inquire. How did you all meet our lovely wife?” He asked with a smile. 

Phoebe smiled, “she’s my best friend! Has been since I was a little kid!” She looked toward Calliope as she spoke. “My mom was hardly ever around and I don’t know who my dad is, so Calli would play with me when no one else did. Which was a lot of the time honestly. But she taught some magic and we would play pranks on the hoity-toity people who thought they could push me around”

Azem smiled, “we certainly made all kinds of mischief” she said letting her leg brush affectionately against Hades’. 

“Azem saved the orchard where my family lives” Drawled Dimitris. “The plants caught a bad blight one year, nearly starved us and the villages that depended on our crops out. She helped get the the aether flowing right and drove the fungus that blighted our plants out so we could survived. I knew there wouldn’t be a way to repay her, even though she insisted we didn’t need to. Instead I just came with her on her travels to help her out.” The firbolg shrugged. 

“My story isn’t nearly as exciting.” Orpheus spoke up, “I woke up a few years ago without any memory of who I was or where I came from. Azem found me and I thought traveling with her would be better than trying to survive alone in the woods so I just stuck around” 

Hythlodaeus quirked a brow and was about to pry for more information, when his wife spoke, “you won’t get much more from him. He’s still trying to figure everything including himself out.” To which Orpheus nodded in agreement, before he resumed his mindless melodic strumming. Hades eyed the young man warily not completely trusting of him, as he let Hythlodaeus carry the conversation.

“And you Anemone?” 

“Oh I’ve known Calliope since we were just girls. My Nana and her Mama were friends” 

“Venat.” Was his wife’s answer to the unspoken question of both husbands. 

“Yes. Well they were friends, are still friends I suppose. And I just remember Venat and Calliope always comin’ to visit us. I think Nana was trying to teach Venat the magic that we use in the forest. Mainly how we can transform into animals.” 

“It’s different from the methods we use.” Calliope clarified. “Uses less aether and is more about studying fauna than manifesting the true shape of your soul. We called it Wild Shape.” 

Hades seemed to relax at her clarification and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. Looking between Anemone and Calliope, he started to realize it was less that his wife influenced the mischief in Anemone, and more the other way around. This was perhaps the only other person in the room that knew his wife as well as he and his husband did. It was nice to know she wasn’t alone when she traveled so frequently.

They spent the rest of their evening speaking on embarrassing and amusing stories of their journeys together and apart.  The grin on Hades face grew by the end of the night to an actually recognizable smile. 

While Emet-Selch may have took no joy in doing his duty contributing to this censure of Azem, seeing the impact she had on the star through the people truly effected by her choices was powerful testimony to bring back to the Convocation. Hades, delighted in how her face lit up with her stories, in how her laugh rang out as her friends reminded her of missing details, in the warmth of the color of her soul knowing she was surrounded by those she loved and who love her best. 

Perhaps he would find more occasions to accompany her on journeys from start to finish instead of coming only when she called. Clearly, the consequence of this censorship was beneficial for all of them. 

#ffxiv fic #ffxiv #ffxiv azem #azem/hades/hythlodaeus #azem x emet selch x hythlodaeus #hythazemet #hythlodaeus #Emet-Selch/Hades #Emet-Selch #emet selch #Azem #Final Fantasy XIV

[aerialsquid]

FFXIVWrite: Day 2

Contains mild spoilers for Shadowbringers onward.

--

Day 2: Bolt

G'raha Tia is very, very young when he meets the Warrior of Light. Ages young, when he reflects back - as if he was a far separate person, and his younger self was a mere sibling. So he sees this tall tall figure and his first urge is to buff himself up and peacock, ears up and tail forcibly stilled to hide his anxiety. He flirts, and despite the Warrior's height it all seems to go over his head. Sure, there's some odd threat, but there's always some Calamity on the horizon and that doesn't mean they can't make time for fun.

The second time their hands barely touch. G'raha wants to ask for one last one for the road - for a kiss, for a touch to his cheek, for the Warrior to take him somewhere private and press him against the cold hard crystal and give him what he'll never get again from a person in this timeline. At the last he falters. He can't stand the idea that this strong, gentle person might turn him down and that the final memory they'd have together is his libido overriding his good sense.

The third…the third is a world away, and a century, and the Crystal Exarch is a very different man. The Crystal Exarch is still a man who thinks and feels and yearns, but the body is…not. The body is cold stone, and what flesh is still there (less and less every year) is also growing cold. He lets his hand linger by the Warrior, just a moment, hoping some of that warmth will seep away into G'raha's own body. But there is so much more at stake than one half-formed man's needs. 

The fourth time, there's so many reasons to reach out. So many excuses. A fight against the despair around them, a comfort to a hero bearing too many burdens. So many excuses G'raha could use to worm his way into the Warrior of Light's bed and be a vessel for his needs (whatever those needs are, G'raha has no idea. He's got big top energy but maybe that's wishful thinking).

The fifth time. Oh, the fifth time, in a place where emotion reigns and G'raha has so many emotions that they threaten to break loose of his body. So many thoughts of things that would be left undone. G'raha lets that need pool inside his chest, holds it tight and precious, and when he lets the aether of his body unravel the beautiful blue crystal that builds a bridge for his warrior to climb to the next step is built, every step, of his deep and abiding desire. 

G'raha idolizes a brave, beautiful Warrior and he is at his core a coward. Every apocalypse he meets with open arms, but every possible time he could take his Warrior's hand he flees. For all that he's faced the end of the world with a smile, faced his own death with a smile, he cannot take the Warriors' hands in his own soft ones and say "For the love of the Twelve please rail me so hard I can't walk the next morning."

So they have dinner. They celebrate. They slowly filter out of the room until it's only G'raha and the Warrior left. The simmering tension, the words left unsaid, is palpable. It's a heat and a tension he's used to bearing, to the point its weight is barely noticeable these days, until he stands to leave and the Warrior's arm snaps out like a striking serpent.

"Stay."

His entire body puffs up, every hair rising to attention (and it's not just the hair either), and he lets himself be reeled back in until he's sitting at the table. He can feel the Warrior's warmth, and their gaze burning into his face. The man who clawed his way out from Emet-Selch's hellish shackles, slashed open the bindings of space and time, went to the ends of the universe for a love he trembles to speak, finds himself unable to run. 

It's beautiful.

#ffxivwrite2022 #g'raha tia #bolt as in flee #wrote this on my phone during worldcon sorry #someone also wanted a prompt of 'five times g'raha didn't do it and one time he did' idk if this what they wanted but here we are

[karygurl]

stolen moment (ffxiv)

Thancred x WoL Cassandra Tygrova. Takes place in Shadowbringers, after reaching the first aetheryte in the last area of the expansion. Borrowed time is all she has left, isn't it?

Every step Cassandra took as the group moved in the Ondo Cups was steady, intentionally so, exceedingly deliberate lest she fall apart. She offered her friends a reassuring smile when she could, but Thancred could see that she was barely holding it together with sheer will. When Alphinaud proposed to do what the Scions of the Seventh Dawn do best and offer up their assistance in running errands for the Ondo, Thancred said he’d stick around the settlement to keep an eye on things. What he really meant was he would keep an eye on Cassandra.

She spoke up wanting to help, of course, and she was ready to insist with whatever power she had left in her, but he shook his head and reminded her that she needed to save her strength and resolve for the battle to come with Emet-Selch. When presented with that argument, she reluctantly agreed, and he watched as the determination drained from her and left her trembling. With an eye on their surroundings and an arm around her waist ostensibly to direct her but actually meant to keep her upright, he guided her to one of the paths that led out of the Ondo’s settlement. It would allow for an easy exit should things become… complicated.

With hardly any suggestion, she sank down onto the sand of the sea floor at her feet and nearly pitched over before he caught her. Lowering himself to the ground next to her, he lent her his shoulder, a position he was used to from her propensity to fall asleep there but now rather than familiarity, it held tension and danger. 

Tilting his head back, his eyes peered upward at the dome of water high above. “How far down do you think we are?” he offered as a conversational distraction, but when he turned to look at her, she was staring off into space, not acknowledging that he’d spoken.

The sight of her, so listless and weak against the monstrous force of aether inside of her, tore at his heart. He had not the knowledge to help her, and while he could protect her from external foes, this was one he could not fight. All he could do was watch over her and look on as she struggled. Gods, if only he could… 

As he looked on, he watched her impel herself to breathe, the movements seeming very intentional rather than unconscious. Breathing in, breathing out… Breathing in, breathing out… Breathing in…

Several seconds later his heart gave a lurch, her form seemingly frozen at his side--and had she grown paler? He quietly spoke her name in warning and she exhaled heavily, head lolling forward and eyes squeezing shut. 

“I’m fine, sorry,” she murmured, her intentional breathing growing more forced. A few more breaths passed, in. and out. in. and. out. in. and. out. And then she sighed and spoke again. “Thank you, Thancred. You were right, I do need some rest.”

“Perhaps you might speak to Ryne on my behalf then,” he said lightly, “if my advice is so apt. She so rarely listens to me.”

“I said you were right this time,” Cassandra offered, her voice still too breathy for his liking. “I didn’t say you were right all the time. And she’s nearly as old as the twins, she can make up her own mind just as they do.”

“So you’re saying it’s the twins’ fault that she’s so independent? Well now, I’ll have to have a chat with them, then.” 

Her chuckle, weak as it was, lifted his spirits. She was still present, still herself. Still with him. “Planning to mother the entire team, are you? I thought that was Tataru’s job.” 

“Well, in her absence, someone must rise to the occasion.” 

“I’m glad it’s you.” The teasing lilt of her voice had gone, leaving behind simple, grave honesty.

He wasn’t sure where her mind was going with that, if it was slipping into some kind of terminal attempt at farewells, but he wasn’t having it. “You wouldn’t prefer Urianger? The man’s voice has been known to lull others to sleep, if nothing else.”

She rocked back and looked up at him then, not taking his lighthearted bait. “Thancred. You keep me going, and I’m grateful.” She looked down again and lifted her hands slowly, as if simply directing their movements was an effort, and she pulled one of his hands into her grasp. “I’m not giving up, I’m going to fight this. We’re going to challenge Emet-Selch, we’re going to get the Exarch back, and we’re going to go home together.” 

“That we are.” He was grateful that despite her precarious condition her resolve had not wavered, though how she managed such a thing confounded him. How was she still holding on? On one hand, she’d hardly faltered before, no matter what they’d faced in the past. On the other, the circumstances now were beyond the pale even for all that the Scions had seen. Her small body held enough light aether to quite literally flood the world, and though its containment was a delicate and worrisome balance, she was walking, talking, moving forward and still ready and willing to fight. He was in awe of her. He didn’t know why she would look to him for encouragement of all people, he who kept failing his friends time and again. If anything she was the one keeping him going, in an eternally ill-fated attempt to be worthy of her trust. 

And here she was, looking up at him with those unguarded eyes now lit from within. He hated the light illuminating her irises; she’d confessed that with the overwhelming aether inside of her, even closing her eyelids gave her no relief from it. He’d seen a similar glow in Minfilia’s when they’d met in the rift before she’d left to save the First, and the again in Ryne’s eyes for several years before Minfilia bequeathed the girl with her gift. That glow had long been a small comfort to him, Hydaelyn’s light given form, but now it was a grim reminder that the only thing that kept this world on the brink of calamity from falling to ruin, and dooming their own world on top of it, was one woman’s resolve. 

Her gaze was still affixed on their entangled hands, her fingers ghosting along the contours and lines of his. Carefully, methodically, gently, she followed a path only she could see as she traced down to the edges of the glove at the base of his knuckles and moved back to his fingertips. Perhaps it served as a distraction, or something to ground her in the moment. Whatever she needed, it was hers. Regrettably, it was all he could offer her for now; she’d made her resolute declaration rather than continue down the vein of his attempt at lighthearted banter. She seemed absorbed in her current task, and Twelve forgive him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. He wasn’t sure he could admit to her that her touch soothed him as well, taking the edge off his apprehension at their lack of strategy for the time being.

Thancred was normally one for having a solid plan in place with a multitude of contingencies in reserve, just in case, but this wasn’t something he could sneak or steal or cajole his way out of. They’d have to rely on the knowledge of the Ondo to find their destination, confront Emet-Selch, rescue the Exarch, and he would do all he could for Cassandra along the way to keep her going, keep her safe, and make sure she and the others made it out alive. No sense in saving the world if they weren’t around to enjoy it.

#ffxiv #shadowbringers spoilers #cassandra tygrova #thancred waters #wolcred #these idiots are STILL pining

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k22 - Prompt #3

Temper

Hiroka, Varis, and Regula have found a comfortable truce- and just like any other time Varis has been comfortable with his life- his grandsire shows up to throw a wrench in the works.

----------------------

Hiroka’s footing slipped when her blade met with naught but air. Her palms touched the ground for barely half a second as she used the momentum to whirl about and lunge at the dark figure again. “You gave me this throne, do you think I’d give it away so easily?”

For once, Varis wouldn’t chide her for her ill behavior. For the skirts cut for movement instead of dignity. He couldn’t really speak at all, frozen at the sight of his grandsire back from the grave. The spitting image of the vile man in his younger days. The face from his night terrors, always judging him, always tearing him down.

Regula moved first, coming to the Empress’ defense against the founder himself. Of course, Varis thought, it made a grim sort of sense; Regula hated Solus for all the reasons Varis did. He would easily trade the young idealistic Empress for the cruel founder.

“Temper, temper, your highness. Ah. Such a shame. What is the Empire coming to? Savage ways from a savage woman.” Solus faded out before her blade struck true again, appearing from a dark void away from both Hiroka and Regula’s reach. “I bring you good news!”

Hiroka grit her teeth and whirled around again, “I doubt it, but I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt. Go on, what’s the good news?”

“You have single handedly ruined the plans I had for this country.” His smile hadn’t faded yet, and Varis could see Hiroka on edge. “Your reward? You get to keep it. I don’t need it anymore. I have other plans for ways to bring about the next rejoining.”

Rejoining? The hells was a rejoining?

Whatever it was, just hearing about it seemed to set Hiroka on edge. “How many of you do I have to kill before the deaths stop? Nabriales, Lahabrea, Igeyorhm. I’ve stopped your kind before.” Her eyes didn’t look right, he’d never seen her like this before. Not even when she was fighting Zenos. His grandsire had found himself the very center of the Empress’ focus- for weal or for woe.

“Will you now? Well then, you’d better learn to cross the barrier between worlds, hero.” The old man’s gentle smile turned to a cold sneer with just a quirk of his brow and it brought Varis back twenty years.

“Challenge accepted, Ascian.”

“Please.” He took a mock bow, bringing his hand before his face and sliding it down to reveal a red sigil before him. Like a mask. “Call me Emet-Selch, your Radiance.”

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv fanfiction #empress AU #my writing

[voidsentprinces]

Every Garlean we had faced up to Hydrus was a faceless, helmet, just-another-mob enemy. Melodramatic actors playing their part on the stories stage with the exception Nael who is finally de-helmed in the Bahamut storyline and becomes her own villain. Whether its because of budget, Hydrus never removes his helm granting no real face to the man who sacrifices himself. Everytime we meet him, he is a character to be judged by his actions and thats where Yoshi P. and Devs really stretched what they could do with the Garleans figuring out that it would be more effective to give such characters a face. We know everything about Varis because we can see his face from the beginning. A stoic man hardened by years of being both a Legatus and fighting for the throne which has left him embittered and scarred.

 And Zenos really doesn’t become an active participate in the story until we break his helm and he leaves it off for the rest of his story. Up until then he is merely going through the motions, doing what he’s suppose to do as a simple villain of the piece, passively just letting most of the things in Ala Mhigo happen. Even the massacre at Rhalgr’s Reach is more a formality than an actual act. After the ambushing in Yanxia, he presses Yotsuyu who was also, at best, only passively hindering our movements to take an active role in the story. He promotes Fordola and puts obstacles in our path as we return to Ala Mhigo. Kidnapping Krile was just a sort of bonus. And once we do face off against him and prove better than him, even slightly, he emotes and breaks the Garlean shackles that bound him his entire life. Fusing with Shinryu and fighting us in the heavens. A moment he wishes to reinact later.

Emet-Selch starts to appear as a chaotic lunatic, his wild flailing, lax postures and grand standing, mood swings clearly a mask next to Varis and his body size difference compared to his Granson and Great Granson adding weight to this small bully pushing the larger kid around. But once we meet him on the First, his posture is that of man with a millenia of weight on his shoulders. Tired of the fight but force to push forward for the good of those who were sacrificed. Seeing a sliver of Azem’s soul in the Warrior of Light. He sees the possiblity of hope for the future. A way for him not to be alone in the endeavor with Lahabrea gone and Elidibus’s memory faltering, even a sliver of Azem’s soul would do. Which is why he takes our failing to contain the Lightwardens so badly. His hope in us is shattered, he’ll never regain Hythlodaeus or Azem now. But he also knows our reputation and where this leads him. So, in a final gesture, he offers us a way back home. Maybe not the true Amaurot but a simulacrum of one. He recreates the debating shades, we meet up with Hythlodaeus again and when all is said and done. He entrusts the sliver of Azem’s soul with the memory of Amaurot, its people, and Azem’s crystal.

Nero fails to really ever wear his armor or helm again save for brief moments in Crystal Tower and Omega Storyline. Show he’s escaped not just the Garlean way of life and the shackles that tied him down. But also Cid’s shadow, seeing beyond the petty jealousy and one-sided rivalry and instead he embraces that he can do whatever he wants, and he damn well will do it.

Gaius’s unmasking is meant to be a moment of doubt. Who is this man? Why is he hunting the Ascians? What is his motives. Once it is revealed it is Gaius it is clearly meant to take what was, before, a simple masked dramatic character and tone him down to something tangible. Gaius is no longer making grand speeches, set on lofty ideals, or thoughts of conquest. The betrayal of Lahabrea, the death of his entire legion, all those he could count on gone. The orphans he watched over used as pawns by Varro the same way he was by Lahabrea. He does speak in his past grandiose manner, he is concise, quiet, thoughtful. In the demasking of the Black Wolf, he is simply a man trying to right his wrongs. Jaded and somber. Though the WEAPONs story line ultimately doesn’t do anything to improve his character, being a hastily halfassed redemption as best. The notes and his actions in Post-Stormblood show him a changed man.

Lastly, we have Jullus, the survivers of the Praetorium raid, and Garlean refugees. Long gone are even the masked enemies we are use to. We now see the people under the Imperil regime. The only ones still fully helmed as centurions are possessed by Anima’s tempering. The last bastions of a singular conquest set forth by Solus so long ago. Now twisted to its logical extreme by Fandaniel and Zenos. When Jullus and the others have lost everything and have nothing left to fight for, no Empire, no legatus, no longer any imperil cause. They pull themselves up and fight along side Eorzeans for the Garlemald can be rebuilt hand in hand with us.

Quintus is the last Legatus standing that hasn’t been tempered or killed now. His beard is grown out, he is in an underground facility using resources to fight a war he cannot hope to win instead of seeing to his men who are starving. He is an old soul, the Legatus of the First Legion ever made by the Empire. Having served two Emperors now. He is clearly meant to be the old man clinging onto the old ways, his wisdom in what is to come and bitterness in the face of an olive branch of peace characterizes him. He knows what will happen if he accepts peace with Eorzea. Because he and the Empire have enacted the same peace on Doma, Ala Mhigo, Dalmasca and so many others. And with his coup de grace, the vision Solus first set forth, the ideals Varis sat upon, the environment that raised Zenos is dead and gone. He can no longer see a future where the Empire he was raised in and fought for can return. And so for the good of the future for his mean, he kills his ideals to grant them a path forward while keeping to the creed of Garlemald; “The emblem upon the Garlean flag is a chain in abstract design. It symbolizes the value the native sons and daughters of Garlemald hold dear: tight unity amongst their small number. In like fashion, the crimson central link represents all those who have perished in the name of the Garlean people.” And perish he does, in the name of his soldiers and the remaining Garlean people, “Twas a grand, glorious dream we shared.” but now it must come to an end.

[whitherliliesbloom]

your voice will save me

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #23 - soul ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,416 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]

a sequel to a fill i did from last year’s ffxivwrite. i had the idea for this fic for a whole year but never got to write it. aka, it took one year for me to finally give alphinaud closure.

soul- the spiritual part of a person that some people believe continues to exist in some form after their body has died

it’s a long time coming, but alphinaud thinks he should finally tell the warrior of light the words his soul has been yearning to say for thousands of years

Revenant’s Toll feels particularly cold with the nightly breeze, and it sends chills down Alphinaud’s spine as he casts his glance outwards to look upon Silvertear falls, watching as the sky, now free from miasma, is glimmering with a sea of swaying stars that casts distant reflections of light upon the lake where the wings of a great wyrm once stood vigil.

He shivers, grasping at his gloved hand to steady himself, counting his own breaths as he looks upon the tower of crystals with a pang of hurt that leaves his throat dry. The sight of the tower alone reminds him of skyscrapers and the sound of distant rain, and memories that were not his own flash, albeit briefly, through his head like a bolt that strikes at his very heart. 

The boy barely manages to compose himself, steel himself with the resolve and cool that a distant, untarnished version of himself had once possessed. Even in the midst of falling stars, a rain of fire and rivers of blood that ran the streets, that man..... himself from an ancient time, Alphinaud acknowledges bitterly with bit lips, he would not allow his emotions to sway him so.

And yet when he hears a familiar voice call out to him from behind, call out to his very soul that has been aching since the beginning of time, he knew that the him of the present was incapable of being as cold and unfeeling as he had once been.

“Alphinaud?” his flower whispers a name into the night, his name. The name of his current form, one that he can barely hang on to as yet another brief flash of a blazing meteor shower tears through his focus. “You called for me?”

“Yes.” He holds his breath, turns around and gazes down at her with a muddied, dishonest smile upon his face. “I....I wanted to talk to you.” there’s hesitation as he speaks, pain laced in his tone, but Illya makes no remark on it as she moves to stand next to the man, crystal violet eyes cast skywards at the dead of the night. “I’m not bothering you am I?”

“You never bother me.” Illya responds swiftly, her fingers resting upon the stone railing and shivering a tad as she finds the surface cool to the touch.

He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes averting her own and body fidgety, restless as he attempts to find the words in him to even begin speaking - because heaven knows there are so many he wants to say to her.

Previous countless mental rehearsals are now forgotten, replaced with only the raw emotions of a flickering, barely visible light within him. 

“I.... I just wanted... To call you out here to... Well... clarify some things... and... and to apologize for others...”

His voice is sheepish, timid, completely unlike the assured confidence of her beloved scholar who had been so eager and ready, eyes blazing with confidence during his fight against the specters of light, his magicks woven from his passion like bursts of fire and gusts of summer wind.

But her smile is still patient and kind as she watches him carelessly stumble upon his words, a hand raising up to tuck a long fluttering strand of hair behind her ear as it blew effortlessly in the lake breeze.

“I never did apologize... Well, there are a lot of things I have to apologize for but-” Alphinaud frowns, “I-I.. I could not well carry on without first trying to apologize to you for all of my transgressions.” Inhaling sharply, the elezen clenches his fist and casts his gaze down upon the stone under his feet. “I’m sorry for worrying you so much all the time, especially when my soul had been pulled to the first. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you struggled with yourself... I’m sorry for putting you through such heinous betrayal because of my incompetence as a commander of the Crystal Braves. I’m sorry for all the times I used you, doubted you, hurt you...”

His voice shakes with the sorrow worth many years of regret, of the guilt he’s pent up and swore to himself he’d make amends for. His heart is aching, the agony of his own past sins coming back to haunt a more mature, wiser, older form of himself now. But he knows it is nothing compared to what he has put her through.

“When we first arrived in Ishgard, I promised you that I would do better - be better for the sake of the others and you who I have wronged. I don’t know if I’ve gotten far enough yet to say I’ve fulfilled that promise... And for that too, I am truly sorry.”

lllya parts her lips to speak, but her voice is hushed, watching as what little shred of dignity has drained from Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes with a sea of cyan sadness washing through her own. And when she takes a step towards him, he holds his hand up and she swallows back her protests reluctantly, intent to listen to his heart until the end even if it killed her to do so.

“And... and also... I’m sorry for pushing you away.” 

That statement applies to himself from six summers ago, but the distant glaze in his eyes as he attempts to recall memories of a long forgotten city tells the girl that he was referring to otherwise, and she casts him a confused tilt of her head before he finally speaks again.

“In a time long past... in a city of creation and innovation... That man, Apollo...” Alphinaud shakes his head. Saying another name that was not his own would be deflecting the blame, “the unsundered form of myself sought to reach distant heights that I believed not even the convocation could dream to match. And in my vain, egotistical pursuit for ideals that I wasn’t worthy of I...” He chokes back a sob, the thought of his sins against her too much for even himself to even recount. “I hurt you. I told you such blatant, awful lies. I let my jealousy and my own incompetence sweep me away. I-”

“Alphinaud.”

Her voice calls out his name. His name. The name of his current form - his present form. It is the only name Illya knows and will ever acknowledge. 

And though her expression is stern, eyebrows furrowed and peach pink lips pressed into a tight line, she still says his name like melted caramel, unbearably sweet and warm in its tone. 

“I can accept your apology for everything else. I forgive you. But you’re beginning to apologize for mistakes that aren’t your own.”

“But I am- I mean... it... is me.” 

In a way, he acknowledges... Not fully, of course... but the revelations of what had been his past life is proof enough that he, even if a fourteenth fraction of what had once been the man named Apollo, he still must bear part of the responsibility. 

He’s lucky enough as he is to have been granted a second chance, just as Apollo had begged and prayed to the heavens for. He cannot even fathom a world where he had not met Illya anymore.

His beloved smiles, hand raised up to press against her beating heart, as if to feel the essence of her twice rejoined soul. She searches for whispers of herself - of the perfection version of the woman she once was, feeling the bright amethyst constellation stone that bore the insignia of the blistering sun warm in her pocket. She hears no words, only a wave of emotions that cascade through her and almost sweeps her away - she has after all ever been the most sensitive with the voices of unseen beings. 

But even with the two shards of a whole soul shone brightly within her, and she can almost envision the visage of a dusty, quiet library in her mind, there is not a trace of anger or hurt in her heart. 

“I am Illya Skawi. And you are Alphinaud Leveilleur.” Her gentle tone belies the weak little tremble in her voice as her eyes swirl with an ocean of unfiltered emotions. “I am nowhere near as perfect as Chloris, I know I can never be.” Her hands clasp together tightly, held close to her chest as if to guard her heart. “I may inherit her will... but I will never be her.”

Where Chloris had bright, flawless sanguine pink eyes that morphed in hue to reflect her thoughts, Illya inherited a pair of more timid orbs of lavender twilight. Where Chloris had unmarred skin of a porcelain doll, Illya’s skin was covered with a map of the galaxy - the speckle of stars from bullet holes upon her thighs, the milky way that cut across her collar bone and the auroras taking the form of teeth marks all over her abdomen. 

And where Chloris had an unparalleled talent for optimism, charisma and hope, what remained in Illya was only the painful, unreciprocated love she had for the world that would be the very bane of her mental stability for as long as she can remember. 

Even with her soul reunited with Ardbert’s, she knows she is but a husk of what had once been the fourteenth member of the convocation - of azem... Emet-Selch at least wasn’t mistaken in spelling that fact out. 

“And the woman that Apollo loved is not me - not this ugly, fragmented, weak little shard as I am.”

That’s absolute nonsense, Alphinaud wants to retort. Illya is anything but. It may not who Chloris had once been - but it is who the woman he loves is. Whole, beautiful and divine, her hair is woven from moonlight and her eyes are pressed from a bouquet blossomed flowers. Her voice a melody of a songbird, her skin a distant and unexplored, yet welcoming cosmos. She is a ray of hope, not just for him, but practically everyone else he knows... and he could think of no better personification of perfection than her. 

The world may disagree, the ancients may cry in protest and the whole, unbroken version of him may think to question his judgement. 

But Alphinaud knows, even if he is wrong about everything else and will continue to be as imperfect and sinfully tainted as he is, that he isn’t wrong about her.

“You’re not- You are not....ugly...” the words die at his throat, he’s lacking in the strength to debate as fervently as he is usually capable of doing. “Or weak for that matter. You’re...” 

“I’m not Chloris. And you’re not Apollo, either. Perhaps we were once upon a time, but not now, not here.”

The breeze picks up and howls in his ears, carrying the chill of his doubts and guilt away into the night. And as the bearer of hopes and miracles flashes him a radiant smile, he feels his chest clenching with a warmth that he can barely contain.

Illya turns to look back over Silvertear falls, the light from the moon and the fields of crystals casting a halo over her hair as it fluttered like a veil in the wind. Her skin glows with color, warm against the backdrop of grey stone and dark blue sky. 

“I did ponder over the circumstances of our meeting... If it was pure coincidence or a mechanism of fate bringing their souls... our souls together again.” Illya hums, fiddling with her fingers as she contemplates out loud. “And I wonder... if the other shards of Chloris and Apollo are so tightly wound together that they’d meet again in other worlds too...” 

“They will.” He answers on impulse, as if his entire being already knew the answer. “I believe they will.” 

It’s a naive and an impossibly idealistic wish... one with a hint of selfishness and ego too, perhaps... but those are the core of who he is- who his soul is. And if Apollo loved Chloris even half as much as he loved Illya, then he knows, is certain with all his heart that the thread that keeps their fourteen souls tied together for eternity will not be so easily severed. 

There’s a quiet that looms over them, with only the sounds of the wind and the chirping of the crickets ringing in the air. Illya doesn’t turn to look back at him for a minute, lost in her own thought and drowning in a pool of her own emotions - thousands of years worth of them.

“That’s good. I’m glad...”

When the girl turns around, her violet eyes are wet with crystal clear tears, they catch the rays of moonlight and reflect off her face as they roll down her cheeks past upturned lips. 

“Because Chloris loved Apollo, you know? She loved him very very much.”

Alphinaud hadn’t noticed when he’d started crying either, quiet sobs breaking out of him as he lets out a choked laugh, raising a gloved hand to feebly wipe away his tears.

“He did too. He loved her so much that it killed him.” 

His heart is so full to the brim, spilling with unbearable adoration and devotion. When Illya spreads her arms out wordlessly, sniffling back her own trickling, glistening tears, he picks her up and wraps his arms tightly around her, feeling the beating of his heart match in tandem with her own. 

In their warm, tender embrace, he hears the echoes of a distant past - yet another vision of a splitting star flashes in his mind. But he doesn’t flinch this time as he holds his entire world in his arms, afraid and determined to never let go. 

“I love you. I love you.” Her declaration is all he hears, along with quiet whispers of his name. His real name. 

Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud. Alphinaud.

This love was hers to bear, and no one else’s - not Chloris, not Ardbert, not the twelve other flickering star blossoms that are out there, undoubtedly fighting with their entire being to reunite with their own other half. And no cry of ancient beings, no fracturing of worlds or falling of the moon or stars will stop her from loving him. Even until the sun sets, even until the end of times. 

And though their souls may have been set adrift, he knew that his soul would always be destined to love hers in return.

“I love you too, Illya.” 

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #we've come so far #fanfic #mine #THIS IS A RESULT OF A WHOLE YEAR OF THINKING ABOUT THIS IDEA AND THEN THIS PROMPT CAME OUT #I actually wanted to write this RIGHT AFTER i wrote that fill from last year but #i got lazy hue... as usual #hey this turned out pretty good though so #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH GOD THEY DESERVE THE WHOLE WORLD AND MORE

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 27: Benthos

Why am I back here again, Dia thought.

There was no reason, really. It felt right to her. Whatever the others might say of this place, whatever horrors she experienced here, Amaurot fascinated her. She traversed the city and listened to them, to her people…or to the people that she once knew, at least.

Why would Emet-Selch allow them their opinions still? Why would he not want them all to simply agree with the course of action taken by the Convocation? Would it have not made him feel more justified to rewrite history? These were questions that plagued her when she thought of Amaurot.

“This place creeps me out, you know”, Ardbert commented.

“Noted. Now where do you think we should go next?”

“Ishgard, if you would.”

“Before that.”

“Urgh, I don’t understand you sometimes. Why can’t it be as simple as, ‘This place is creepy and dark and made by an Ascian; perhaps we should avoid it.’”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s more than that, and you know it. This was…our home once.”

“No, it’s a recreation of Azem’s home. It’s dead, Dia. Dead and gone.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you. I also watched the Final Days and we’re apparently due for a repeat. That doesn’t mean that a recreation can’t be found intriguing.”

“It can if you let it.”

She kept walking past Macarenses Angle. Azem’s crystal seemed to pulse as she walked in the same rhythm. She seemed to want something, to add her own voice.

“Azem, no more kissy-face with Emet-Selch, I’m begging you”, Dia whispered softly as she gripped the stone in her inventory. She bound for a nearby bench, and took a seat. The familiar pull of the past taking her away embraced her.

*********

“On that note, I would like to draw this meeting to a close.”

Emet-Selch’s voice rang across the assembly hall. The fourteen stood in respect before he dismissed them.

Azem dreamed of the day they would finally intervene, recognize that their duty to the world has always been plain. The circumstances which led them to this point, however, devastated her. Her fellow convocation members, her friends, her family- all of them were in danger. She needed to protect them, and although the matter was grave indeed, it was strangely refreshing for her to see the Convocation finally acknowledge the threat at their doorstep.

The solution was anything but.

A dark primal concept?! Azem thought, They want to kill half of Amaurot to save Amaurot?! Unacceptable! That won’t save anyone! The dark primals only want more power, more aether! Their dark primal won’t rest until it’s consumed everything whole. I saw it happen with the other primal concepts, bless Lahabrea’s heart; I will not see this primal of theirs consume everything I hold dear.

To that end, she marched to the office of Elidibus, and knocked on his door.

“Enter”, he called.

She opened the door and greeted him with a typical wave and smile. “Can we talk? Just you and me?”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I can certainly find the time for you. What do you need, Azem?”

Azem stepped forward and took her seat. “That was…a more emotionally charged debate than I was prepared for”, she tried to calm herself with humor, and Elidibus gave a light laugh in return. “Indeed. I suppose the Final Days do bring out a different side of all of us. You paid attention in a meeting for once.”

“I know. I never thought it would come to this”, she joked before asking in a more serious tone, “But…are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay. I have a chance here, Azem. We have a chance. We can save Amaurot.”

“But…can we though?”

“Azem, we debated this for hours. Half of Amaurot is better than complete engulfment.”

She argued the point as firmly as she ever could have, which meant little compared to the masters of debate she encountered regularly. Primals demand much and more, and drain power and aether. Dark primals demand sacrifice, in particular. Unfortunately, she exhausted all arguments in the assembly hall. She had no rational argument left within her to turn them away from such an irrational solution.

“And we’ll use what’s left to bring them back.”

She had also argued that what these primals can bring back will be nothing more than husks; the amaurotines would be long gone.

Especially Elidibus.

“But why you?”

“What do you mean, Azem?”

“Elidibus, if you become the heart of this primal, that’s it. There’s no going back. You’ll be consumed whole, left with nothing to show for it. The only thing that could even have a shred of you is…” she didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“If I use the power of the primal to recreate my form, as we discussed.”

Azem shook her head, her face growing hot. “Elidibus, that won’t be you. That’ll be a creature, an abomination with one sole purpose.”

“Better that than to leave Amaurot in the hands of calamity.”

Damn this mask, she thought as her tears stung her eyes. She stood up, and stepped to his side, making Elidbus turn to her and gawk at her clear breach of Convocation etiquette. She fell to one knee, and took his hands.

“Please, Elidibus”, she choked out through the lump in her throat, “I don’t want you to die. You’re so young. You have so much potential. You have a future ahead of you, my friend.” Her voiced shuddered before she begged him, “Reconsider, give me time to think of a better solution. Stand with me as I’ve stood with you before.” Her tears were contagious, as the young amaurotine felt his own well up too.

“I’m sorry, Azem. But time is so precious, so valuable. My future means nothing if all I hold dear is brought to ruin.”

Her tears dripped behind her mask and rolled down her cheeks.

“Damn it all”, she seethed, and ripped the mask of her face to wipe away her tears. The face she kept from her young friend for so many years laid bare in front of him.

“Elidibus, look at me.”

“I-I am…”

“No, I mean without the mask. Please. I may never have this chance again. I beg you.”

He hesitated.

He thought back through the years. He respected her, treated her like a sister as she treated him like a brother. They dined together, enjoyed their leisure time together, she knew his family as he knew hers. Yet through it all, he did not remove the mask in front of her. It felt akin to baring himself naked to her.

But when he stared into her eyes and witnessed the sorrow emanate from her soul, the choice became clear.

He removed his mask and revealed to her the hazel eyes and cherub cheeks he concealed. It only agitated her further to see the man- barely a man- that would become Zodiark’s heart.

“I will not sit by and align myself with this madness. I will not associate myself with the end of our very star. If the Convocation should move forward with the proposal to summon this dark primal…I will resign.”

His tears burned in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his hands. “Don’t do this, Azem!” he sobbed, “Don’t make me choose between my loved ones and my world!”

“I chose my world when I argued against the summoning. Your loved ones are in this world, Elidibus.”

“Don’t you see I have no choice?!”

“You have a choice, Elidibus, and I beg you to make the right one!”

“I will not forsake my duty, Azem!”

There, the line was drawn in fire. Azem and Elidibus stood on opposite sides of it, and watched the past burn.

She turned her back to him and replaced her mask on her face.

“Then it would appear our business is concluded”, she stated coldly.

The door opened and closed. The rustle of her robe as she stormed out was the last thing he heard before he sunk his head into his arms as they crossed on his desk and cried softly into them. The salt water stained his desk.

The memories flashed too quickly for Dia to keep up, but the last memory was clear; Azem clutched a white robe and red mask, and wept into the cloth.

********

The tug of the past released itself from Dia’s soul and she returned to Emet-Selch’s paradise.

“It would appear the burden of Azem has unveiled itself to you.”

Dia jerked her head to her right and met her gaze with Hythlodaeus.

“Hello, my new old friend.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Hello to you, Hythlodaeus. How are you?”

“I am well. Forgive me for startling you; I was merely curious as to how the stone fares with you, and if it grants you the wisdom I had hoped it would.”

She let out a light laugh. “Yes and no.”

The amaurotine hummed. “Helios was capable of balancing her impulsive nature with implacable wisdom. This made her a great fit for the seat of Azem along with her combat prowess. Perhaps this was why Hades loved her so; his impulsiveness rivaled hers, thus do I find myself at the bottom of the sea.”

“You know where we are?”

“It’s difficult not to draw conclusions when fish people occasionally wander in.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did you know Elidibus, Hythlodaeus?”

“Not as well as I knew dear Hades, but I knew him. Helios loved inviting him over for drinks, the occasional card game, and park outing. He followed Helios like a lost puppy, and it drove Hades crazy.” Dia laughed at his recollection. Hythlodaeus turned his head to face the ground in front of him.

“When Elidibus sacrificed himself, she lost more than just him. Hades was also corrupted to Zodiark’s influence to the point where he never appeared in the apartment again. She knew only sorrow, and I could only be of such comfort.” He moved his gaze to hers.

“Dia, I barely know you, yet I can see you’ve suffered great loss and sacrifice. I can only hope you can keep those you hold dear. I can only hope that you will live a happy life. Most of all, I can only hope that those who find you dear shall keep you close. Already do I find myself holding you dear…both of you.”

“What?”

“I speak of the other piece of you that resides within; a strange thing, it is. He’s not rejoined with your soul, yet he’s perfectly aligned with it”, Hythlodaeus explained.

“Oh good, it can see me. Just the thing to give me nightmares”, complained Ardbert.

“He need not fear. Much like Hades, I am gifted with the ability to see souls. I mean no harm.” Dia couldn’t help but find herself amused at his squeamishness with the amaurotines.

“I see. Thank you, Hythlodaeus.” She rose from the park bench. “As a matter of fact, I need to tend to the ones I hold dear now.”

“Of course. May we cross paths again soon, my new old friend.”

She nodded with a bright smile and prepared Teleport.

“Thank the gods we’re leaving”, praised Ardbert.

Cram it, she whispered.

***********

The night sky glazed over the Source. It was 10pm and Dia only just left the Syrcus Trench. She called upon her black chocobo to carry her to the Rising Stones. The doors flung open at her command and she walked past them with what confidence she could muster.

“Ah, Dia, I expected you to be in Ishgard. Is aught amiss?” greeted Alphinaud. He sat at a table near the bar alongside Alisaie and G’raha with a deck of Triple Triad cards.

“Oh, uh, well, I had hoped to speak with you in private, but if you’re busy…”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to make time for you. That said, must it be in private?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I mean…I guess it’s not anything particularly sensitive…”

“Anything you can say to Alphinaud, you can say to me”, Alisaie added.

“As well as I”, G’raha chimed in.

She didn’t expect an audience, but she was presented with little choice.

“Very well”, Dia took in a big breath through her nose and let it out through mouth. “I just want to say…I want you to be okay, Alphinaud.”

His eyebrows furled in confusion.

“Sixteen summers is far too young to be dealing with any of this. Hells, when I lost my fathers to the Calamity, I could barely keep myself together and I was twenty-five.”

“You lost your fathers to the Calamity?” G’raha asked.

This shocked the other two as well. For as long as they’ve known her, they knew surprisingly little of her past before she joined the Scions.

“It’s not the point. My point is, you have experienced so much loss, and pain, and betrayal. The people you’ve lost, the things you’ve seen; no one your age should be subjected to such things, and yet you are, and yet you grow stronger for it. I want you know that I see you, Alphinaud. I see you and I am so proud of you. But I don’t want you to bear it by yourself.”

Alphinaud wiped his building tears away with his sleeve. “I don’t bear it alone”, he explained, “I never have. I’ve had you. You’ve been my beacon when the light of the dawn grows dim. You’ve been an anchor to keep me aweigh where I would find myself adrift. We’ve shared these burdens together, and I promise, wherever we go, we will always share them.” She couldn’t help, but drop down and wrap the young one into her arms. The other two rose from their seats and piled themselves onto the pair. Dia and Alphinaud released the floodgates onto each others shoulders, quietly sniffling.

“We fight together. These burdens shall be lifted by all of us”, said G’raha, “Come what may, we need not fight alone.”

“Dia, in the past, you’ve fought these battles in solitude, but our future will be shaped by all of us fighting at your side.”

They enjoyed this rare moment of closeness together. Dia’s not one for sentimentality, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him to know.

Elidibus, I’m sorry you were led to make such a decision and that Azem couldn’t be there. That you should bear the burden of the ancient world at such a young age is a tragedy no one should experience. But I will make it right with this one.

This one will not walk alone.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #wol & ardbert #azem & elidibus #wol & hythlodaeus #wol & alphinaud #ardbert #azem #elidibus #hythlodaeus #alphinaud leveilleur #alisaie leveilleur #g’raha tia #female elezen wol #sorry for the long one folks #ffxiv fanfiction #fanfiction #this ones a smidge sad #shadowbringers spoilers

[forgetsrotation]

Title: Sweet nothings for my comrades-in-arms! Word Count: Approx. 700 words Rating: PG for mild flirting ig? Characters: Miqo’te!WoL, Thancred Waters, Estinien Varlineau, Urianger Augurelt Ship(s): Mild implications of WoL x Estinien, although it is more like casual flirting from the WoL, mentions of WoL x Emet-Selch, joking WoL x Thancred

Summary: An old man miqo’te seemingly loves all tall gentlemen. Thancred gives him a hard time about it (affectionate).

// Takes place in early 6.0 location, minor spoilers for early Endwalker //

"So, are you going to attempt to woo every tall gentleman who happens to join our merry band of misfits?" Thancred was currently leaning against the rough brick wall in the balmy Thavnair outpost. The blaring sun had him hot under the collar and the distant sight of the Telephoroi's monumental spire did little to make him feel at ease.

"What's a few sweet nothings between comrades," the all too relaxed miqo'te shrugged. He smiled briefly at Thancred before returning his gaze to the Elezen dragoon across the way. Thancred wasn't sure about sweet nothings since the extent of his friend's waxing poetic about the dragoon was localized within expressing sincere gratitude with a comical wink and a smile. The what-could-be looks of longing had started not too long ago, however…

Thancred's brow's knit together, not in judgment, but confusion on how his friend could find time to enjoy his usual romantic notions when the Final Days could very well be upon them all. Of course, all the scions had found moments of respite midst the slow trend towards chaos, but the Champion of Eorzea himself always appeared to be in the best of moods even in the abhorrent face of danger.

"Well," Thancred drawled then muttered to himself, "at least our dear dragoon friend is not an Ascian - or at least one would hope not." He shuddered in the Thavnairian heat. His own joke was not enough to stave off his Ascian-related trauma.

The miqo'te's ear pivoted towards Thancred at the mention of Ascian. A deeply melancholic frown marred the fanciful glee that reigned only moments prior. Thancred stiffened under his friend's pitiful look, quickly looking away in shame.

"My apologies, friend."

Without missing a beat, the miqo'te perked right back up. "Do my ears deceive me? Is the Thancred Waters, world renowned assailant of men and women's hearts, jealous?" Now his ears twitched in amusement.

Thancred let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in the form a short laugh. His trespass was forgiven. "Hardly. I could outpace your endeavors before the noon sun if you'd like to put your charms to the test against a true master." He found himself grinning, eyes focused on the miqo'te.

"I would never dare challenge your wooing prowess, Mr. Waters," the miqo'te hummed. "My curiosity lay more in if you would care for more sweet nothings your way."

"And yet you look directly at Estinien as you speak those words to me," Thancred laughed. He moved away from the wall to stand next to the miqo'te.

The Warrior of Light's eyes looked to the gunbreaker at the edge of his vision. A wicked grin showcased his prominent fangs. "So you are jealous!"

"Honestly, I feel sorry for your current object of affection. The Azure Dragoon has faced many formidable foes, but could he withstand the sheer amount of attention given to him by the one and only Warrior of Light…" Thancred pretended to ponder this conundrum, eliciting a playful elbow in his rib from the miqo'te.

The two men had a good laugh and continued to exchanged sharp, but lighthearted quips at each other. Soon Estinien walked over with little urgency in his step to see what the commotion was about. Thancred nudged the Warrior of Light, who then sneered mischievously back at him. Estinien stood clueless to the fanfare between his comrades.

Urianger reappeared from the markets, having gone to observe the business customs of Thavnair. He stood equally clueless next to his fellow Elezen.

"Urianger?" Thancred asked with raised brows, but not to the man himself. To the miqo'te.

"We decided we're better off as friends," the miqo'te answered too seriously.

"What in seven hells is going on," Estinien grunted, looking to anyone for an answer.

Urianger shrugged with a sentimental smile on his face. "Tis always like this when the Warrior of Light and Thancred are left in each other's company."

Estinien chose to shrug his shoulders and let the two continue on in their carefree banter. He stood in the audience along with Urianger to the comical show between the miqo'te and hyur. At some point the whimsical miqo'te and Thancred dragged him into their show. Urianger practiced his right to silence, but could be heard laughing to himself every so often.

For a moment, the heat was forgotten, as was the beacon of despair, while comrades and friends alike lived joyously in each other's company.

#ffxiv #ffxiv headcanon #ffxiv fic #thancred waters #estinien varlineau #urianger augurelt #estinien wyrmblood #wol #writing #early 6.0 spoilers

[allycryz]

Thancred x Nerys x Haurchefant for either Spring Prompt 4 or Spicy Prompt 10

I went with Spicy Prompt 10 (Praise Kink). For some background context the loose timeline right now is

Lakeland Invasion -> Emissary Haurchefant goes in disguise to infiltrate Eulmore as a soldier -> Amh Araeng- -> Thancred and Nerys get back together -> Than and Nerys hook up with Emet ->  Save Eulmore/Haurchefant -> Reunion Sex with Haurche turns into Thancred and Haurche Hooking Up for First Time

This is set after that while they work on the Ladder

Rated E, not for Everyone, Haurchefant gets praised and pampered

"Early tomorrow," says Thancred, wiping a forearm over his brow. His coat is a long abandoned pile on the lumber. "Should be ready to go by then, I think."

"Well ahead of schedule then." Nerys sits on the ground, propping her back against said lumber. They'd made her rest during the morning but she had made up for it during the afternoon. 

Better to have the distraction of work while she processed her earlier conversation with Emet-Selch.

"Come sit." She curls a finger at him. He looks...magnificent in the tight black shirt, his muscled arms shown to advantage. More than one of the laborers gives him an appreciative glance. 

"If I sit, I might not stand." He grins. "Did you see everything Chai-Nuzz had me haul around today?"

"Oh come now, you've had far more taxing days."

"After you and Haurchefant wore me out two days and nights in a row?" His grin grows bigger now and she can't help but return it.

She had imagined of course–what it might be like to have them both. Especially after she and Thancred reconciled. But she hadn't dared hope the two men would fit together as well as they did.

"So what was everything we did up until then? A warmup?"

"Well...Haurchefant is a wellspring of energy. Speaking of..."

The man himself strides towards them, clad in the golden armor bestowed upon him when he became the Crystarium's Emissary. There are appreciative glances for him too, but also double-takes.

There was a fairly recent addition in Eulmore; one of the soldiers who defected from the Crystarium after Vauthry's attack on Lakeland. A tall, black-haired, friendly fellow named Edmont Grey.

The glamour on his features is gone but there were enough similarities between the two handsome profiles. Those who didn't know must wonder if this man is related to the affable soldier. 

"I hoped I might find you together," he says. "Am I allowed to steal you away yet?"

"We were about to discuss that," says Nerys. "Thancred worries he cannot keep up with you, my lord."

Thancred nudges her arm with the toe of his boot. "Don't go spreading lies, sweetheart."

"If anything it should be the reverse. You two have been at work on the ladder all day while I have been spent the past hours in meetings or traveling via Amaro and Aetheryte." Haurchefant steps closer to Thancred, running a hand down the front of the tight black material. "Never fear, where I'm taking you has all the amenities to unwind."

Thancred watches the path of the gauntleted fingers as they stroke over his midriff. "And where is that?" 

"You'll see." Haurchefant turns to Nerys, extending a hand. She takes it and finds herself hauled up, tugged against his chest to receive a soft kiss. "Hello."

"Hello." She slips her arms about his neck, shivering as Thancred presses a hand to her lower back. "You may take us away, my lord. Alphi will tell the others where we have gone."

"Hm?" Haurchefant glances around, till he spots what Nerys had a few moments ago: Alphi trying not to get flustered seeing three of his comrades positioned as they were. He is a good ten yalms away and Haurchefant lifts a hand to wave emphatically. "Hello Alphinaud! I shall be borrowing these two, take care of the others!"

"Right," the youth calls back. Looking pointedly at their faces and not their hands. "Good evening!"

"When I was his age," Haurchefant says to the other two. "It had stopped surprising me when the knights retired to a single bunk, two or three at a time. We squires just made ourselves scarce for the evening."

"He admires you a great deal," says Nerys. "Maybe that's part of it."

"And you. And Thancred, of course."

"Mm, do not try to flatter me. That boy saw me at all my absolute worst and at best thinks of me as a wayward brother." Thancred sighs. "At least he doesnt delight in spilling about my past like Urianger and Alisaie."

"Sweet Urianger is an imp," says Haurchefant. "However, he did help me secure our destination. Please hold on tight."

They do and it is no hardship to embrace thus. Haurchefant wraps them in teleportation magicks, whirling them away from Kholusia…

...and to the colorful wilds of Il Mheg. They stand before a little cottage Nerys recognizes from her hunting ventures. Abandoned, not all that far from Lydha Lran. Or–it had been abandoned but looks freshly cleaned and aired out. 

Haurchefant holds up a hand and opens the door. "The game was that if they did not touch anything, I would give them something fun and sugary."

"And we did not!" A voice giggles above them. Three pixies hover above, watching expectantly. 

"Yes, it look quite well looked after.." He produces a handful of colorful paper straws sealed at both ends. "Tear off whichever end you like and you can eat the treat inside."

"...Haurche," Thancred says, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Are those-"

"We thank you Haurchefant," one of the pixies cooes. "It is too bad you won't play with us to-day…"

"Ah, but another day I should like to. Hide and seek the next time I am here?"

They nod, flying away with a burst of magic. None too soon because Thancred has to duck into the house and explode with laughter. The sound is like a balm to Nerys' heart–it has been too long since he made a sound of pure and utter delight like that. 

"Well," Haurcefant says, grinning. "There must be a reason the Crystarium merchants call it that. The fae love sugar."

"Good gods, Haurchafant," Thancred leans against the small dining table for support. Careful not to muss the place settings though it is a very near thing.

"It was a good idea," Nerys says, stifling her giggle. "It's no tricking them into making your tea but…"

“I prefer honest bribery with pixie sticks rather than elaborate ruses." Haurchefant grips her hand, urging her to take one of the chairs. The ache is getting worse the past few days, the churning of the light in her belly. So she doesn't protest. 

He steps over to a small ice chest and gathers up items for the table--cheese, cold cuts, fruit, a bottle of sweet Kholusian white. Butter to go with the loaf of bread he takes from a cabinet. "I...may have had a bell or two prior to bring things here, after my meetings."

"Look at that." Thancred steps over to him, laying an almost tentative hand on his arm. "You're a good man, Haurche."

Haurchefant beams under the compliment and the touch. Nerys watches the pull between them in silence, the hesitation before Thancred curls a hand in his hair and tugs him down. Kisses him soft and sweet, his murmur barely audible. "Very good."

She knows well the shiver that goes through Haurchefant. Nerys stands, needing a moment of support from the chair before walking over to them. Burying her hands in the soft fabric of Haurchefant's blue cape. "This was lovely of you, finding a private place and preparing this food for us."

"Truly, it is the least I might do." Haurchefant turns his head towards her. "And all I did was cut up some of the offerings."

"Still." Nerys finds the clasp of his cloak and removes the bilious garment. She peers over his shoulder at Thancred who gives her a minute nod. "Its exactly what we needed."

"Perfect." Thancred looks around the small space–the kitchenette, the table, and the largish bed in the corner. They'll have to huddle but that is fine. His gaze returns to Haurche and he smirks a little. "You're perfect."

"I know what you two are doing," Haurchefant says in a sing-song way. He moves his arms to let Thancred remove his cuirass. Sighs when his shoulders are bare and Nerys rubs soothing fingers into his shoulders.

"But it's working," she sing-songs back. "Let us take care of you, please."

"My love…" He turns in the circle of their arms, pressing his palms against her cheeks. His bright eyes bore into her and there is no hiding from him. There never is. "You need care as well I think."

"I do," she admits. "It will make me feel good to do this."

"And with that you have trapped me," he presses his forehead to hers. "As you take care of me, please let our Thancred also take care of you."

Our Thancred. Her heart flutters at that and she kisses him, her gratitude and joy permeating the contact.

Haurchefant's armor disappears piece by piece until he is pressed between them, cloth the only barrier left. Thancred tugs his lips down, dropping praise against his ear. "You're gorgeous in the armor and even better like this. And those hands-"

Those hands slide over Thancred who groans in appreciation. The three of them move in a tangle to the bed. Nerys feels hands on her own hips and chest, though it’s hard to tell at first who is touching what. Only that they're petting her, peeling off her leathers and tugging loosely at her short hair. 

She finds Haurchefant's ear and sucks lightly at the tip. "Do you know how beautiful you look right now? You almost never blush but…"

At that, the faint pink across Haurchefant's cheek grows. He sighs, turning his body to face hers and rubbing her hip. "This is the effect you have on me, beloved."

"Not just her, I hope." Thancred slips his arms about him from behind.

"Not just her. You're an attractive man, Thancred."

"Indecently so." Nerys adds. "He could bat those eyelashes at a king and receive half a kingdom."

"You forget, they called me Thancred of the Silver Tongue when I was a young and wild bard." That same tongue traces Haurchefant's jaw. "I am more than a...what did you say once? Infuriatingly handsome face?"

Nerys grins. "Alright then, please demonstrate how good you are with that silver miracle."

"Verbally or..." He slides his tongue into Haurchefant's mouth, kissing him into a pliant puddle of limbs. They're dazzling together–Thancred half-propped over the other man, hand curled about the knight' cheek. He directs Haurchefant's limbs upward, above his head. "Good boy."

Haurchefant groans. "What wickedness do you have planned for me?"

"No plan, moving as we are inspired to." Thancred presses a hand over his chest, kneading Haurchefant's pectoral through his shirt. "You're so beautiful Haurche, you drive a man wild. Whenever I look at you I think seven hells, how can we mortals be so lucky."

"Ha-I thought you were the pretty one," Haurchefant gasps, hands flexing above his head. "There-keep rubbing right there."

Nerys cannot hold herself back anymore, adding her hand to the ministrations. Slipping it beneath his shirt to cup the other pec, circle the nipple with her thumb. He starts to jerk forward, to reach for her-and then keeps his hands where they are above his head.

"You're so obedient for us," she says, kissing the underside of his jaw. "So good and sweet "

He sighs. "I would do anything for you."

"We know." Her lips travel to the column of his throat. The words fumble a little--Thancred and Haurchefant are good at reciting a litany of praises. She doesn't talk quite as much during.

As if he senses her doubts, Thancred grins at her and picks up where she leaves off. "How lucky we are, to have someone this giving and beautiful in our bed. Will you do us a favor, lovely one? Will you let us suck your cock?"

Haurchefant groans like a man wounded. "Fury, you don't even have to ask-"

"Of course we do." Their hands are quick at Haurchefant's laces, shoving down the supple leather leggings and the smalls all at once. They draw him out: already hard and in need of their succor. 

"You look amazing like this," Nerys says. "So still and good, and needing us to take care of you. And one of the prettiest cocks I've ever seen."

"Agree," says Thancred. "And we've both seen enough to know. Yours is by far one of the best."

Haurchefant groans, disobeying so that he might cover his eyes with a forearm. "You two will destroy me before I even feel your mouths on me."

"Look at us," Nerys begs and he lifts the arm. His lips are parted, his cheeks flushed, his eyes blown wide with desire. "There. I want your eyes on us, and not just because they're exquisite."

Thancred nods his approval at that. "And promise to be vocal, so we know when we're doing a good job."

"You have my vow."

"Good boy." Thancred licks a stripe along one side of the shaft and Nerys the other, meeting in an open mouthed kiss at the head. Haurchefant obliges them with a moan and some very improper Ishgardian curses. "Nerys, suckle him."

She obeys without hesitation, drawing the swollen head into her mouth. A gentle but insistent hand cups the back of her neck, lips brush her cheek and whisper, "Good girl."

Nerys shivers. If she isn't careful, Thancred will have her as overwhelmed as Haurchefant is.

The pressure increases until she takes more of Haurchefant, savoring him with the flat of her tongue even as her jaw aches and he slides further into her throat. She watches as Thancred changes his angle, drawing the heavy sac into his mouth while she bobs up and down the shaft.

Haurchefant gasps, hands once again reaching for them before he returns them above his head. Thancred draws himself up and murmurs something into his ear-too quiet for Nerys to parse but Haurche’s cock twitches in her mouth with each syllable. 

She looks up and can see Haurchefant's eyes shut tight, his breathing growing faster. Nerys takes a shallow breath through her nose and takes him deeper. It is never an easy feat, big as he is, but she wants this for her dear knight. 

Haurchefant gasps, pressing his face into Thancred's shoulder. The words become louder, probably for her benefit.

"Look how she takes you, big boy that you are. That's how much she wants to make you feel good. You deserve to feel good-"

"Thancred," Haurchefant pants. "Nerys, I don’t have much control left-"

"Yes you do. We know you do." Thancred slides back down, tugging Nerys away with gentle hands. Putting his own mouth upon Haurchefant's straining cock.

"There you go," Nerys says, cupping his sack with gentle fingers before subtly increasing the pressure. "Our lovely knight has so much control left."

"Yours," Haurchefant sobs. "Yours, I'm yours-"

"Ours," she hums, lips pressing to the base of his shaft where neither of them can manage to swallow. "Our wonderful, perfect Haurche."

His back arches and she can feel the control shaking through him, the strain to hold back and be good for them. 

Nerys' eyes meet Thancred. He pulls off with a gentle pop and their twined hands replace their mouths, their mouths hover close to the head.

"Come for us," Thancred says, drawing their hands quick over the spit-slicked cock. "We need you."

"Please," says Nerys and it seems to be the last straw for Haurchefant, who comes with a desperate yell. Painting their faces, their open mouths. He babbles through it–declarations of love and need that twine with the other two's fervent praise.

He sags into the mattress, as if it might cocoon him. Tugs at their hair and arms until they rise to meet him with slow, tender kisses. 

"You did so good," she tells him and he smiles.

"So did you. And you, dear Thancred. Silver tongue indeed."

"He's very good with it." Nerys says, curling against her love. And then seeing the mischievous glint in his eye. Uh oh.

"Oh really?" Haurchefant smirks. "I think I need to see it again, on a willing test subject. Do you volunteer?"

Her own need pulses between her legs and she nods. Swallows. "Yes, I think I do."

"Good girl," says Thancred, as he crawls over to her, a leg swinging over her waist. "Shall we?"

#lemon #nerys eluned #haurchefant greystone #thancred waters #haurchefant x wol x thancred #///////////////////////////////nsfw #food cw #COMPERSION #ally writes

[ancientechos]

The Apothecary

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 3782 words ♡ Revenant AU

Sequel to Omen of Beginning

Previous

Solus herds the woman into her home, shutting the door behind them both. The rain drumming upon the roof sounds strangely calming here. Or maybe it’s simply the house in general.

Sighing wearily, he drops her gloved hand and throws himself into the kitchen chair he’s sat at so many times before. He leans back; the front legs lift into the air. If he wants, he could probably count the leaves of the dried herbs that hang from the ceiling. He throws an arm across his face.

The clicks of he -- hooves on the floorboards rattles within his mind as she walks cautiously around him. He finally understands.

The question that instinctively comes to his lips is why did you never tell me?

But he knows the answer without having to ask.

The Garlean Empire hates her kind. Savages, revenants...the sort of humans with very inhuman features. And far more likely to be in possession of the “gift” of magic.

Slowly, he lowers his arm and lets the chair legs touch the floor once more.

“Whether you believe me or not, I have no intention of turning you in.” He presses his palm hard against the bridge of his nose. Staring at her through narrowed eyes, his gaze roves from her apprehensive expression to the hat she has yet to remove.

And the gloves...he’s never seen her so covered before. He’s seen her hands plenty of times. He is achingly curious. There must be a reason why she’s chosen to hide them.

But even he knows it would be terribly inappropriate to ask.

So instead an awkward silence drifts across them; the woman fidgeting nervously, as if she’s unsure of what to do, while Solus teeters precariously between simply letting his eyes shut and pretending this was all a dream, or getting up and leaving entirely.

Oh, he knows he can’t do that. Not in her...condition. It’s too -- dangerous to leave her like this...

Not to mention he should be getting back to his post. He can’t let the next watch catch it empty.

“It is...it’s all right...” he murmurs, though he’s not sure whether it’s to reassure himself or her. She doesn’t speak, of course. Arianna hasn’t even moved for what seems like years. He glances at her again, brows furrowing. Whatever it is that ails her...

“Just...I think you should likely stay here...until you, ah, turn -- turn back to...normal...”

The words feel like ash on his tongue, bitter and vile, and he cannot for the life of him discern why. He is simply stating facts.

He feels even worse when she turns her face away with nothing more than a stiff nod, her lips formed in a thin line. But then something like alarm or shock blooms across her features, and she quickly turns back to him with wide eyes.

Arianna’s mouth opens, then shuts; she pulls the cloth off her basket, removing her book.

I was going to the market. I need to buy something.

Such had been his assumption, of course. Though he knows not what -- it’s plain as day that she can’t go anywhere as she is.

“Perhaps I could get them for you. Just...” He speaks over her stare of blank astonishment. “Make a list for me, and I’ll bring them over.”

No need for coin, is what he wants to say, but the thought of not knowing what she needs makes him pause.

“What were you looking to buy? Or get?”

His intention is to leave no room for argument, and yet she musses gloved fingers over the creases of her book anyway. Does she not wish to burden him? Or is she anxious for another reason? Solus shifts upon the chair, armour creaking lightly.

“As I said before, I shan’t report you. There’s no need.  So...” He clears his throat. “Please, don’t be afraid. All right?”

Arianna’s green eyes peer at him from beneath the brim of her hat. Her teeth sink into her lower lip. But eventually, the tenseness seeps from her limbs, and she gives him a small nod.

Ah, good. She trusts him.

He isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or...pleased by this revelation.

It’s a few moments before she begins to write for him. Never before has he ever been bored waiting for her, but this time he finds himself almost restlessly anxious, awaiting her neatly printed words. It feels like an eternity until she wordlessly pushes the book toward him.

Down the second alley on third street, there is a small herb shop with a large bell in the window. An elderly woman owns it. I need the following ingredients: 3 stalks of blabberwort, 1 vial of pixie dust, 2 bunches of foxmittens, and 1 pouch of pumpkin seeds.

________

Solus has never heard of any of those ingredients, apart from the seeds, but then again he has never been especially interested in potionmaking...or witchcraft, anyway.

Because, that is what it is -- he’s sickeningly aware. Witchcraft. These likely aren’t normal ingredients.

Aside from the pumpkin seeds.

Alchemy, he confesses, he has been curious about, but never had an opportunity to try.

She had endeavoured to give him a pouch of coins, though he had pushed it back to her. There would be no need. He -- doesn’t want her to have to pay for this errand. It’s the least he can do after she had nearly been caught.

Though there is no particular reason he should be doing this. He simply. Wants to.

Cyrus is already where Solus should be, his hair tied back in its customary ponytail. His grin is easy and friendly beneath the lamplight.

“Lucky it was me coming on after you.” He tilts his head in curiosity. “Where were you? Chasing after ghosts?”

“None of your business right now, Cyrus.” Solus sighs, coming to a halt in front of him. His shoulders sag. “...But I’d appreciate you not breathing a word of it.” Whatever sting there is behind his words, Cyrus doesn’t seem to feel it.

“‘Course not -- I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Solus believes him. Why ever would he not? “Thank you.”

“Nonsense! However...” He trails off uncertainly, his gaze worried. “Everything all right? It’s not like you to just leave your post.”

Yet another sigh. There’s that -- prickly feeling again, but not because of Arianna this time. “I’ll explain...another time.” Briefly, he pats the other man upon the shoulder. “All right?”

This might be a lie. He’s not really sure if he can even explain this. Or if it’s his place to. But surely, if anyone could understand, it would be his best friend, no?

-- And yet he grimaces to think of the danger this would undoubtedly put him in.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cyrus’ smile is just as effortless as it always is. “Whatever you’re dealing with right now, it’s fine.” His expression turns mischievous. “Even if you just needed an impulsive romp with the tea girl.” His utterly hilarious joke is punctuated by mirthful laughter as he slaps a hand against Solus’ shoulder in kind.

Solus, meanwhile, grits his teeth, exhaling loudly. Cyrus can already tell that he’s completely unamused by his harmless jab. How does he even manage to be so enthusiastic in this weather?

“Oh, come now, don’t be so sour.”

“...I have some business to attend to,” the Garlean soldier says smoothly, doing his best to straighten his furrowed brows. “So, if you’ll excuse me...”

“Oh, surely, I wouldn’t want to keep your rendezvous waiting.”

“Do shut up, Cyrus. I’ll see you shortly.”

He counts the streets as he walks. It doesn’t take him long to realise she hadn’t mentioned which side the alley ought to be on, but the bell isn’t difficult to notice. From the outside in the dim lighting, the place seems to be some sort of dingy, tiny apothecary. He’s somewhat surprised it’s even still open at this hour.

Though -- perhaps only a few people would know to look for it.

That sense of prickly unease returns; for some reason, Solus holds his breath as he grips the handle to drag himself into the unassuming shop. It’s not too much larger than Arianna’s parlour, though instead of being...a house and a treatment area, this is very much simply a store. There’s none of the amenities he associates to her cottage, albeit the scent is...similar.

Not exactly the same.

His gaze quickly finds an elderly woman toward the left side of the store, behind a large counter. And, for all her years and her wizened appearance, she’s not slow to notice him, either. Her gaze is piercing as the Garlean soldier puts on his best plastic smile.

Instead of approaching her, he takes his time to wander through the shelves of dried and boxed herbs and other eccentricities. The pumpkin seeds are not difficult to find, and he quickly snatches up one bag, as had been asked of him. But the painful minutes pass, and he cannot find anything even remotely approaching blabberwort, pixie dust, or foxmittens. It’s becoming disconcertingly clear that he’ll need to ask that old woman for help...

And that these are not the sort of ingredients they want Garleans to see.

Pixie dust. Not a single man of Garlemald would admit to the existence of “pixies”, much less their dust.

With a heavy sigh, he finally makes his way to the woman behind the counter.

“Good evening, ma’am. Terrible weather we’re having, no?” No response. He resists the urge to shrug, and clears his throat, setting the seeds upon the counter. He’s read over the piece of paper Arianna had given him countless times before, and recites it calmly. “I was informed I could find...blabberwort, pixie dust, and foxmittens here. I can’t seem to find them on your shelves, however; would you mind giving me a hand?”

He had thought the amounts for each to be somewhat...small, for whatever it is she needs them for, but perhaps she thinks this is the best way to not trouble him. He hadn’t been about to argue with her.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably; Solus thinks he can hear the rain outside.

“Blabberwort...?” the woman echoes, her brows knitting together. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about. There is no such herb, as far as I know.”

Ah, of course. She knows nothing. Her gaze flicks from his face to the hilt of his gunblade for the barest of instances.

“I know...I know, I am far from your regular customers,” Solus says, after a moment of thought. “But I -- know, from a reliable source, that I might find what I seek here.”

The woman crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing further into near-indiscernible slits. “And who might this ‘reliable source’ be?”

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. He had hoped he wouldn’t have had to reveal her name. But -- surely the herbalist must frequent this shop...if she had asked him to come here, no...?

“...Miss Rowen requested I retrieve these items for her.”

“Arianna?” Her hands slam upon the counter with more force than expected, jangling metal bracelets. “What have you done with her?”

“Nothing, I have done nothing, she is fine -- ”

“Then why is she not here herself?”

“She asked me to -- she’s -- ”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you, Garlean.”

A low growl builds at the back of his throat; this old harpy is testing his patience. Regardless that she has every right to be wary of him.

“Listen to me,” he hisses out, “if I had truly wanted to, I could have simply burnt this shop to the ground. I’ve no intention of harming or hurting anyone here, she -- she -- ”

He fumbles with his satchel pocket and pulls out the neatly folded note, spreading it upon the counter for her to see.

“She asked me to bring them for her. See?”

The woman stares at the parchment with narrowed eyes. Her fingers trace the edge.

“It certainly looks like her handwriting...”

“Because it is. And no, before you ask, I didn’t press a gun to her head and demand her to write it for me. She asked. I promise this.” At the very least.

“Why isn’t she here?”

Oh, for the love of --

“And how long have you known?”

The soldier rolls his eyes skyward. “She’s sick, I’ll have you know. Which is why I’ve come in her stead.” Not technically a lie, he supposes. “And I’ve -- ”

“And don’t you try to lie to me, young man.”

Solus’ jaw clenches as he glares at her, arms crossed. “...She told me just a few bells past.” If telling and falling over pavement could be considered the same. A sharp exhale leaves him. “Now, I am trying to help her, so if you wouldn’t mind” -- he slams his coin purse on the counter, the coins within jingling -- “I would like to buy what she asked for.”

Instead of responding, the old woman levels him with a sharp gaze. Not about to be cowed, the man stares back.

The tension breaks as the woman smirks, though she does not speak to him. She claps her wrinkly hands together.

“Shtola! You heard the man. What do you think?”

A woman with eyes as silver as her hair shuffles out the back of the shop, her fingertips gently dragging along one of the shelves as she moves to lean against the wall. Something feels off about her -- her -- movements...? She does not look directly at him --

“He seems honest.” Her head tilts. “But that is just what I can assume from his voice. There’s far more, I recall, that can be discerned from a man’s expression.”

“He certainly has spirit...more than I can say about most of them.”

“And I don’t think Arianna would ask simply anyone. Come to think of it, she did mention talking to a ‘charming Garlean soldier’ last she visited...”

“Psh. I’ve seen nothing charming about this one.”

The silver-haired woman begins to laugh.

-- More than the apparent revelation that Arianna had described him as charming, he’s somewhat confounded as to how a mute and an apparently blind woman might even begin talk to one another at all. But more importantly than that --

“Forgive me for the interruption, but I really must be getting back to her...”

“What is your name?” the younger of the two women (Shtola?) suddenly asks. Her gaze is unseeing and yet still manages to be sharp as flint. “We will at least know if you are lying then. I doubt she would have had the inclination to mention her beau’s name to someone who held her hostage.”

Beau...? They certainly do take great joy in teasing him.

“...My name is Solus dus Galvus.”

The old woman glances at the younger. “I believe she did mention a ‘Solus’.”

“But perchance he has betrayed her trust...?”

“Mmm...too true...there is no way to properly tell, is there -- ”

Do they really intend to just sit around gossiping like old women while Arianna waits white-knuckled in her own home?

“The longer you two stand prattling about,” Solus snaps, breaking their musings, “the longer it will take me to return to her, and the larger the chances of her being discovered are. Are you going to allow me to help her, or not?”

Even Shtola’s eyes seem to widen. Then her lips curve into a knowing smile.

“...I will get what you need. How many of each was it, again?”

He wants to ask how a blind woman should be taking any of his orders, but bites his tongue. The old woman reads off the list, and the silver-haired woman gives a nod. Solus leaves the shop a few minutes later, small brown bag in hand.

“Take care of her, will you?” the old woman asks just before he reaches the door.

“...Why would I not?”

The air outside is crisp and welcoming after the cloying stickiness of that little hovel. Cyrus’ gaze immediately finds the nondescript little bag as he exits the marketplace.

“Sol, I had no idea you had it in you...to buy...”

“...What?” He can practically hear the laughter threatening to break free from Cyrus’ throat.  He has a feeling he won’t like whatever he’s about to say, but he bites anyway.

“Contraceptives...”

“I swear to whatever gods are left in this sorry world...”

________

The soldier knocks upon the door to make his presence known, then lightly touches upon the doorknob; it is unlocked. He makes his way within.

Not much has changed in the cottage -- except the scent of it all is far more welcoming than before. And -- she has gotten a fire going. Arianna stokes it gently, glancing up at him with first a hint of wariness, and then a shy smile.

“I’ve brought what you asked for,” Solus says as he approaches, carefully holding the bag out to her. She takes it from him gently, peering into it, and giving him a tiny nod of satisfaction. Placing it upon her table, she quickly retrieves her book for him.

Thank you, very much. I will give you money back in compensation.

Solus shakes his head, sighing slightly. “I’ve already said, there’s no need for that.”

Her brows furrow, but she does not try to argue.

Do you mind waiting here for a bit? I will not be long.

“Not at all. Take whatever time you need.” He still feels the chill and the stifling unease of his impromptu adventures; it should be nice to warm up by the hearth before he has to go. He stoops to sit near the fireplace upon a cushion laid out beside it. After a moment’s thought, he decides to remove his gauntlets, and draws his chilled hands near the flames.

He almost doesn’t notice when Arianna leaves, the crinkling of the bag the only indication she has gone. He wonders what she’s doing with those ingredients. And, come to think of it -- how has she...avoided detection for so long? The unease he had felt around her before...

Even now, he can feel it disintegrating, burnt away by the fire, stifled and snuffed out by the calming scents within her home. It almost makes him not want to think.

He has no idea how much time passes, but he more feels than hears her return. Glancing upward, he nearly jolts in surprise upon finally seeing her -- 

She’s removed the hat, the gloves and now -- now she simply stands before him as she always has. There’s not a thing strange or inhuman about her -- he suspects that even if he were to lift the hem of her skirt, he would see naught but human feet there.

“Ah, you are...back to -- normal, then...” Just like before, the words have an unpleasant taste to them. He’s not sure why.

Things should feel normal now, too, but instead they simply feel...off.

Arianna gives another small nod, arranging her skirts as she comes to sit near him. Her fingers push a few strands of dark hair behind her ears; he can’t help but wonder how her hands had looked earlier...beneath those gloves of hers...

And what had she been hiding with her hat?

Green eyes meet his, before she looks away, biting at her lower lip. Her hands quickly find her book once more. This time, it takes her a while to write, though the wait is not at all unpleasant. The crackling of the fire and the sound of her writing utensil against the paper put him at ease. He smiles at her faintly once she passes the book to him.

I suppose I should explain. The ingredients I asked you to get -- the blabberwort, pixie dust, foxmittens, and pumpkin seeds -- are used in a sort of alchemical potion called a glamour. I normally still have some, but this time I was careless.

There’s a strange flush to her cheeks, he notes as he reads. Or perhaps simply the firelight?

Our kind -- I believe you call us “revenants” -- use this potion to hide our inhuman features. It is simple enough to make, and typically lasts a while...and the ingredients are not too difficult to find, if you know how. Still, I was not did not think properly, and I apologise. I apologise that you had to go through this trouble for me.

This time, he has to speak, sighing lightly as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t any trouble.” Much of one, anyway. That is not a lie. “So please, don’t worry about it.” He looks up at her over the book, and offers her another smile. Instead of nodding, or even smiling in kind, she looks away skittishly. Had he done something wrong...?

And I must thank you, for not wanting to tell anyone about it. And for helping me. I truly cannot properly convey my thanks to you. Or my appreciation, for not throw casting me aside. Thank you, Solus. Is there anything I might do for you?

As he reads the last few lines of her note to him, he hears Cyrus’ treacherous voice at the back of his head. Idiot --

Clearing his throat, he has to resist the urge to slam the book shut. It would do naught but alarm the innocent herbalist sitting all too close to him.

Innocent. Perhaps in the past, he would have scoffed at the word. And yet...

Yet he knows without a doubt that he would never tell anyone else about this secret of theirs. Certainly no one he wouldn’t trust with his life.

“All I ask for is a cup of tea before I leave. Couldn’t possibly leave without one of those, eh?”

Her expression of bewilderment fades into a relieved smile, punctuated by a soft blush. Gently, she tears out several pages from her book. Holding the parchment in her hand, she glances toward her fireplace, and then hesitates.

May I have the list of ingredients I gave you, please?

“Of course.”

He watches as she quietly burns the evidence of their forbidden conversation.

Next

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #emet selch #emet selch x wol #emet selch x arianna #arianna rowen #arianna #hythlodaeus #yshtola #matoya #fanfic #my writing #mine #w: the dreamer and the architect #other verses #revenant au #i renamed hyth from laurentius to cyrus #in case theres any confusion #5.3 reminded me there was a laurentius in arr whoops #but i bet everyone forgot about this fic :V #are matoya and yshtola terribly ooc? #probably

[karygurl]

infiltration? send the white mage! (ffxiv)

Takes place in Shadowbringers after returning to the Crystarium post-Il Mheg. After the pressure that the Eulmorans have put onto the Scions, perhaps it's time to return the favor. Word count: 8.6k

In the aftermath of the night sky returning to Il Mheg, there was much cause for celebration among both the fae and the people of the Crystarium. Once Cassandra had had a chance to rest, the strange tight feeling in her chest had eased somewhat, no doubt from the high tension in rushing to defeat Titania before the Eulmore army could overwhelm her friends… and the sudden appearance of Emet-Selch, Ascian and founder of the Garlean Empire. Something about the man had set her on edge in a peculiar way that she’d not felt around his other Ascian brethren, but she couldn’t put her finger on what the difference could possibly be. Strangely, the Ascian had introduced himself, asked for cooperation and then left. The odd nature of his offer hummed about in her mind as she headed for the Ocular, eager to discuss whatever the next step was in their grand scheme to save the world. 

“If Eulmore’s army is to pose such an obstacle at every turn for us,” Alisaie began after everyone had arrived, “perhaps that is the next region we should focus on.”

Alphinaud nodded his agreement. “If we deprive them of their tenuous armistice by restoring the night sky, then perhaps at least some of the people will see Vauthry and his so-called peace for the lie it is. Without fear of retaliation from the sin eaters he purports to command, his army might fall apart or at the very least, reduced in capability.”

Minfilia nodded in agreement, but paused a moment later. “But… we don’t know where the lightwarden is. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything about it, though I was confined to the tower, so…”

“I spent much of my time making inroads with the population, but did not think to inquire as to a possible lair for the lightwarden itself,” Alphinaud confessed. “Perhaps I can return to Kholusia and begin inquiries. Though for obvious reasons, I fear I should avoid Eulmore proper for the time being.”

“That would work to our advantage,” the Exarch announced. “As you were on your way back to the Crystarium, I received an invitation from Eulmore. It seems Vauthry intends to hold a masquerade ball, and I’ve been invited.”

“Planning a party so soon after retreating?” Thancred’s acerbic tone dripped from his words. “He certainly has peculiar priorities.” 

“Was it only thee who hath received an invitation?” Urianger asked, and the Exarch nodded.

“Regardless, we now know that there is an event that we may be able to take advantage of. I fear I will be of little direct assistance, as openly bringing a guest would be out of the question. A more obvious trap I cannot fathom, and whoever is associated with me would be put in danger. However, it would be an event ripe for infiltration.”

“To make the most of our efforts, I propose to speak with the inhabitants of Stilltide and Wright, so that I can gather information while still remaining in the wings should aught occur,” Alphinaud offered.

Alisaie immediately lifted a finger to wag at him. “And I’ll be with you to keep you out of trouble, brother dearest.” 

Thancred spoke then to Minfilia, her face falling as he did. “It would be best if you remained at the Crystarium. No doubt Vauthry and Ran’jit would be all too eager to put you back in a cage should you be discovered. So our best options to crash a ball would be…”

“I would venture forth, if thou wouldst have me.”

All eyes turned to Urianger. Thancred, to his credit, simply smiled at his friend and clapped a hand onto his arm. “Swimming to the island will be required in order to infiltrate it, and more than that, I need you to take care of Minfilia in my stead.”

The wave of disappointment that swept over Urianger was brief, particularly vanishing at the mention of swimming, and he swiftly agreed to take responsibility for the young oracle. 

“That leaves you and me, Thancred?” Cassandra hesitated only a moment before nodding. “My skills in espionage are lacking for sure, but if things go belly up, I’ll be sure to get us out safely. That includes you, Exarch.”

Their positions decided, they moved on to planning. The Exarch would not be making an appearance in Eulmore in person; he would be sending an image in his stead. Though he could do so from the Ocular, the illusion would be more powerful if he could have a piece of the Crystal Tower brought into the canopy of the gaudy city itself. Thancred and Cassandra were tasked to carry a piece with them as they infiltrated the island. They’d swim in at the changing of the guard a few hours ahead of the event, remain in the derelicts for a time to make sure they hadn’t been discovered, then change clothing and sneak into the city. They’d plant the crystal in the main hall near the aetheryte plaza, which would give the Exarch a connection via the aether network to give his projected image greater strength. The Exarch assured them that he was capable of destroying the crystal when he was finished, so there would be no need to retrieve it should a retreat be necessary. Alphinaud and Alisaie would be in Wright and keeping an eye on the city as they conducted their inquiries, just in case their assistance was needed.

The twins headed off to the amaro rookery as Thancred and Cassandra saw to their preparations. Formal clothing and masks commissioned from the Crystalline Mean for them both, waxed canvas bags to keep their items dry as they swam, setting out in clothing that they wouldn’t mind leaving behind, and extra supplies. She followed Thancred's directions to the letter, adding a few additions of her own, before they headed out to to the amaro launch to catch their own flights to Kholusia.

On their way to the launch, they rehearsed a few sparse details of a concocted backstory: a new name for him as a free citizen, and for her as one of the bonded. “First time at a masquerade ball?” Thancred asked her from atop his amaro as she adjusted the pack at her back, trying to make certain it wouldn’t fall off as they flew over the continent. 

“Afraid so,” she responded as they took off, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the rushing wind as they wheeled over Lakeland. “Despite the Wood Wailers’ love of masks, I don’t think masquerades are very common in Gridania.” She was about to mention the banquet in Ul’dah, but caught her tongue. Even though it had been some time since that disastrous evening, and for him an additional five years on top of that, it wasn’t a memory she cared to relive in any part.

“Ishgard is known for their balls. Stuffy affairs normally, but their masquerades have a certain charm,” Thancred said, his tone almost a little wistful. Missing the Source, no doubt.

Cassandra hummed in interest, the sound nearly lost beneath the din of the amaros’ wings. “Been to several of the former, but none of the latter. Lord Edmont requested that Alphinaud, Tataru and I attend a few when we first arrived, to prove that House Fortemps stood behind us and to show our status as wards wasn’t some kind of shameful secret. And after the Dragonsong War, there were so many invitations that I had to ask Artoirel to help me narrow down the offers to only the ones that would embarrass him were I to be absent.” She smiled ruefully. “Noble house drama is too complicated a web for me to comprehend.” 

“Not at all,” he insisted, lips pulling in to a wide grin. “It can be fun to put together the pieces, and once you do, it’s hard to take an over-stuffed noble seriously when you know for a fact that he’s sold his wife’s jewels to acquire a painting of a dhalmel that he simply had to possess.”

“Truly??” she asked between bouts of laughter. She couldn’t imagine one of the men from the Ishgardian high houses delighting in something so absurd.

Thancred nodded, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief that she hadn’t seen in them since they’d been reunited. “With that kidn of knowledge tucked away, those events become less drudgery and more of a circus. Perhaps next time the occasion arises, when we’re not fishing for information, I can be your guide.” 

“I’ll take you up on that once we’re home,” she stated firmly with a smile, and was grateful when he returned it. The mere thought of a plan to come, some future certainty, helped to quell the butterflies in her stomach. They would weather this, together, and return home with a bright future waiting for them. She would make it happen.

Between Thancred’s knowledge of the guard rotations and both of their skill in traversing areas under water, they had sent their amaros back to the Crystarium before plunging into the depths of the sea and were able to arrive at the rear end of the derelicts beneath Eulmore with little fanfare. Several of the inhabitants gave them sidelong glances as they rose from the surf, but all turned a blind eye. People washing up from the ocean wasn’t particularly rare here, after all. The pair trudged together toward a particular tent at Thancred’s direction, and his contact there, a miqo’te-- or rather, mystel-- with burgundy hair and a toothy grin was happy to see him, even moreso once he’d carefully unrolled the bag he’d hauled with him and unpacked supplies to hand out to those who lived in the shadow of Eulmore.

Thancred glanced to Cassandra as she began to unload her own burden, and his eyebrows rose when she pulled similar supplies from her own pack. He hadn’t expected her to have thought to bring extra supplies for those in need down here, and he couldn’t help but grin. Of course she had. She was nothing if not helpful to a fault. 

At his direction, the mystel bounded off to lead them to those best able to distribute the supplies, their arms steadily lightening as they were passed out. Food other than meol, blankets and cloth, fishing line and small sets of tools. Cassandra’s time in Eulmore had been brief, but Thancred apparently had made a much greater impression. Even though it had been several years since he’d been able to approach due to looking after Minfilia, a few people still remembered him and greeted him with hearty hellos. 

Though he did his best to gently remind them that the Crystarium was a safe haven for any who’d wish to leave their place under Eulmore’s thumb, nearly all ignored his offer. The meol was too good, apparently. Unfortunate, but Cassandra understood. Though they wished to help people, she couldn’t force them unless they wanted their help. 

As always, she was grateful for Thancred’s expertise. He seemed to know exactly where they could and couldn’t go to stay out of line of sight of the guards, knew who to talk to and when they needed to get ready. They took turns borrowing their mystel friend’s tent in order to change into their formal clothing, Cassandra struggling with the absurd amount of openings and tiny buttons lining the back of her gown. She’d faced and triumphed over similar circumstances in Ishgard when she’d first learned about their layered styles of dress that helped keep out the cold, but the temperate weather of Kholusia meant there was little need for layers and apparently all the more need for showing skin. 

The deep red gown had actually been commissioned some time ago from the Crystalline Mean by a Eulmoran, but had never been sent for. It was a wholly impractical garment of course, so it had languished until Katliss had remembered its existence and dug it up. A few tailors had worked quickly to alter it to Cassandra’s form, and suddenly she’d been in possession of a dress that hopefully was close enough to pass as Eulmoran fashion. She couldn’t imagine what the point of it was though, with the wide yet tight openings over her cleavage and at the middle of her back as well as the slit that rode up her leg nearly to her waist. She was no prude, and between the thigh highs and matching red undergarments that covered her particulars the amount of skin out in the open wasn’t that ostentatious, but all the same, this was probably the most exposed she’d ever felt. 

With a heaved sigh that she hoped might bring her some courage, she pulled on the delicate shoes with lace at the ankle and lacquered flowers decorating the heel before finally exiting the tent. When Thancred turned to look at her, she’d lowered her face, ostensibly to fuss with the slit at her leg to make sure it fell properly. 

“Enchanting.”

“Hopefully they’ll be so enchanted that they forget to speak to me,” she said with a self-conscious huff of laughter, ignoring the warmth rising into her cheeks at the low rumbling tone in that single word. No doubt he was simply trying to reassure her; he’d have said the same no matter what she wore or how she looked. 

As a last touch, he held out the mask she was expected to wear for the ball, a black and crimson piece of confectionery with similar lacquered flowered detailing as the heels of her shoes. The mask covered most of her face, curving around to the hollows of her cheeks with a delicate chain hanging from both sides that draped under the curve of her bottom lip. 

Cassandra nodded but before accepting it, she combed her fingers through the loose waves of her air-dried hair before fastening it in a loose ponytail over her shoulder. Better to refrain from putting her hair up in the style she’d worn when she’d visited Eulmore before, she figured, then reached out for the mask. 

She pulled it from his hands but he held onto the silk ribbons at its sides and stepped around her. Once she’d lifted it to her face, he worked to weave the ribbons in and out of her hair before fastening it, the dexterity of his fingers with the delicate straps surprising her.

“That’s quite a skill,” she remarked as he finished tying the mask, snug and secure.

“Both Minfilias share a love of ribbons,” he remarked quietly, and she could hear the warm ache in his voice. 

Nodding once they were both set, Thancred bid farewell to his associate among the Derelicts and they worked their way toward the base of the city. The plan was relatively simple: Thancred, dressed a Eulmoran guard’s uniform that had been smuggled into the Crystarium by a former resident, would escort her into the building under pretense of her being a lost ball attendee. They’d head for the stairs, stopping briefly for him to quickly change and drop off the uniform somewhere in the army headquarters in the tower’s middle levels, before heading up to the Canopy and the masquerade proper.

The plan went off without a hitch. Thancred did all the talking, of course, much to her relief; he’d spun a tale of “this airheaded, well-meaning chit” sneaking off to look for seashells for her hair, or somesuch. To be honest she missed most of what he’d said, her heart hammering in her ears as she did her best to appear suitably chastened. Thankfully, it seemed that the door guard mistook her nerves for remorse and impatiently waved them both inside. 

The stairs were no easier than the first time she’d climbed them with Alphinaud; in fact her heels made the climb even more strenuous, but slowly but surely they arrived at the Understory in the middle of the tower, strangely empty as she peered inside. No doubt many of the guards were at posts around the party. 

She’d barely turned her back on the space to give Thancred some privacy, her gaze sweeping the stairs for any patrols or wayward guests, when he stepped around her in a tailored suit sleek and yet on the verge of pompous with its detailing and coat tails. Perfect for Eulmore. But how had he changed so quickly? She lifted her eyes from his outfit to his face to see a smirk pulling at his lips. He’d done that to show off, hadn’t he? She exhaled sharply with a smile. This man.

Cassandra wordlessly helped him with his mask when he lifted it to his face, reaching out for its ties though he hadn’t asked for her assistance. Though her fingers were nowhere near as deft as his, she still ensured that the mask was firmly in place and absently pulled a few locks of his hair free so that they wouldn’t snag uncomfortably. Both of their outfits now in place, they resumed their ascent.

The tower gave her even more chills now than it had during her first visit, almost humming around them as they climbed the stairs. The music swelled as they rose, as did the strange feeling in her chest, almost as if it were stiffening, pressure squeezing it tight. As they arrived at a doorway and Thancred cracked it open, looking for anyone who might notice their entrance, her hand rose to her throat to try and assuage the worrying sensation. Surely it was nothing, simply nerves?

Thancred’s eyes turned to her, and before he could ask, she nodded at him with a smile. She was fine, it must simply be apprehension making her jittery. Espionage wasn’t something she had ever been comfortable with, but surely Thancred had this handled, and the mask would prevent anyone from recognizing her. 

His searching gaze didn’t let up for another moment, but he offered her a small smile in return and his arm. Wrapping her fingers around his elbow, she followed as he took one more look out into the hallway and then slipped them both past the door and onto a walkway that led directly to the Canopy.

The pair turned the corner into the open main floor, and their senses were assaulted with the myriad of overly opulent delights at every turn. The music rose to fill and echo within the soaring space overhead, food and drink placed strategically about the hall with their potent aromas wafting from every corner, conversation ebbed and flowed, laughter echoed in high pitched raucous nattering. Were it not so manufactured and fake, it might actually be inviting. 

Cassandra pasted a smile onto her face, determined to not let her thoughts show as they usually did. She kept her hands wrapped lightly around Thancred’s elbow, likewise determined to not crush his arm in a tight worried grip and give away her anxiety.

She remained mute as Thancred greeted several nobles-- free citizens, she reminded herself-- with gusto, and they returned his greeting before they moved on again.

“Do you know them?”

“Not at all.”

Gods, she wished she had his confidence. Primals she could face, but scheming nobility? She’d fumbled far too much in Ishgard even after she’d become some kind of figurehead whose missteps were easily forgotten, and still hadn’t learned enough to feel confident in the slightest. Thank goodness he was here with her. 

Had she been an outside observer, she would have easily believed Thancred was one of the free citizens of Eulmore. He had the confidence, the charisma, and projected the signature carefree attitude of someone who expected luxury with ease. How did he do it? She hoped she looked the part of a bonded citizen next to him, at awe at everything he did. It had been a good cover for the stumbling she knew she’d be prone to. And it had worked the last time she’d been in Eulmore with Alphinaud, had it not?

Their amble around the floor led them toward one of the tables piled high with assortments of food and bottles of wine. “Might as well avail ourselves of the luxuries while we’re here. Care for a bite?”

Her eyes scanned the food, trying to tamp down on the disgust she felt thinking of the people in the Derelicts subsisting on nothing but meol. The smells wafting from the dishes were pleasing but something about the food itself was revolting, turning her stomach in a sudden lurch. She shook her head quickly, hoping her reticence wasn’t noticed or perhaps chalked up to maidenly vanity. 

“Don’t see anything to your liking?” he asked quietly, lightly, in case anyone was listening.

When Cassandra shook her head once more, he nodded and continued their circuit of the room on their way to the aetheryte. As they passed it she reached down and fussed with the lace at her ankle, while gently letting the blue crystal the Exarch had entrusted her with slip from her fingers and sink to the bottom of the shallow pool. To her surprise, a soft Thank you echoed in her mind in the Exarch’s voice. He must have been waiting for her and the connection was now made. Thank goodness, at least part of their plan had been accomplished. She allowed herself a brief moment to close her eyes and breathe-- regardless of what happened the rest of the night, that much at least was a success.

“Are you all right, my lady?” the voice that she’d heard in her head was suddenly in her ear and her face snapped up to see the Exarch kneeling next to her. He wore his robes as always, though he sported a full face harlequin mask beneath the deep cowl. She blinked as she accepted his hand, only the hum of aether beneath her fingertips giving away his illusion. Had she closed her eyes for that long, or had he simply blinked into existence? There was still time before his meeting with Vauthry; she hadn’t expected him to appear so soon, or so suddenly.

As she stood, Thancred nodded at their new companion. “Care to take a turn with her before your audience?” he offered lightly, eyes carefully sweeping the room. 

Cassandra understood what Thancred was asking: he wanted to do what he did best, slipping into the shadows, without her at his side. It was no slight against her, and she knew it; she wanted him to succeed, and that meant leaving her to her own devices for a while while he put his skills to use. She placed a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently in reassurance before stepping back. Thancred gave her an exaggerated bow (though was it truly exaggerated, or was just that level of pomp expected in Eulmore?) before sauntering off and she quickly lost sight of him. Damn, but he was good at that. 

“Well then,” she turned to the Exarch with a smile. “Are you my guest, or am I yours?” 

“I believe we are both guests,” he said cheerfully as he pulled her arm to the crook of his elbow, “And we can experience this adventure together however we see fit.” 

They’d only just stepped away from the aetheryte when the music swelled and nearly every couple in the Canopy stepped forward, surging toward the open plaza and taking up a position with clasped hands raised.

A dance. And they were in the middle of a sea of couples. 

“I don’t know this dance,” she murmured, nearly in a panic. She wasn’t a poor dancer, but she wasn’t good at picking up steps on the fly, she needed practice. Would it be too visible if they were to sneak out to the balcony, perhaps? Would it be any better to visibly stumble her way through a dance she didn't know, calling attention to herself amid all of these people?

The Exarch shifted her hand again back into his palm, and once he’d lifted their hands to match the others on the floor, he turned to her with his head slightly bowed. “Fortunately it’s one I’ve learned, and a rather simple one at that. Unless you would prefer to quit the floor? I would leave the decision to you.”

He was asking her to trust his judgment, in so many words. He believed that this was something she was capable of. She nodded in a split second decision and though his entire face was covered, she could feel the smile behind the mask that was meant for her. 

The strings rose together with one vibrato note, shivering in the air building anticipation, and then the rest of the ensemble began to play and the first step began. 

The Exarch was right, the dance truly was simple. The steps were quite basic, the spectacle of it created by the upper bodies of the couples tipping back and forth though even that was an easy pattern. She quickly realized that the dance wasn’t for the sake of the dancers themselves; it was for those observing, to see couples in an inner and outer circle moving in grand observable gestures. How very like Eulmore, to pretend to be lavish and decadent for all but have its opulence truthfully meant for the enjoyment of the one overseeing it. Her eyes darted toward the lift to Vauthry’s chambers, but she quickly looked away and instead tried to concentrate on her dance with the Exarch.

The swish of his robes and the swaying slit in her gown were accentuated by the basic pivoting steps that led them around and around the inner circle of dancers. “I’m glad the dance is as simple as it is,” she murmured. 

“Gaudy, but unsophisticated. Like much in this place.”

She bit down on her laughter, trying to remain quiet. “I was thinking the same.” Her voice lowered further. “The food is… strange, though. I’d suggest not partaking… if you’re even able to, that is.”

“The food?” he murmured, head turning slightly toward one of the expansive tables laden down with foodstuffs. “Understood. Hopefully the lack of enjoyable victuals isn’t ruining your adventure?” 

She chuckled. “The glitz and glamor are a spectacle for certain, but I’d prefer venturing to new places and getting to know people my own way.” Her eyes scanned the people around them. “Helping people, openly. Not working against them. Though unfortunately the former almost always ends up requiring the latter.”

 After a particularly deep dip, they both snapped upright and she found herself pressed up against him as they moved, their similar heights even more pronounced. “Take heart, my friend. There will be many more adventures ahead of you, more memorable than even this.”

He had such faith in her, it confused her but also heartened her so much. “I hope you'll be there when--”

“Ah, the friend of our master is enjoying the reception!”

The Exarch halted his steps, Cassandra stopping with him, when the two fanciful jongleurs in Vauthry’s employ moved toward them in unison. The other dancers on the floor, forced to dodge them, murmured aghast until they saw just who had stopped them and then they moved aside gracefully. 

“Our master awaits you, if you’ll mind our interception!”

Cassandra curtsied low, praying that the two women wouldn’t recognize her from her previous disastrous visit to Eulmore. Thankfully, they seemed more interested in Vauthry’s lauded guest. 

The Exarch nodded slowly, before turning back to Cassandra and leaning forward to press her hand to the molded lips of his mask. “Find your partner, and be safe,” he murmured before releasing her and following the two comical assistants. 

Cassandra followed after them, if only to use their wake to dodge the dancing couples about the floor. Once she was free of their spinning movements however, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Her eyes swept the wide room but didn’t see Thancred anywhere. Should she hunt him down, or remain in one place? She didn’t want to disrupt his information gathering, and besides, his eyes rarely missed anything, so if she stayed put, then surely he would come across her at some point. And so she stayed, watching, listening in to any gossip she could glean from those standing nearby, but didn't encounter much beyond useless gossip that made her feel so out of place. It didn't help that the emotional hums she'd felt from those around her had all been quiet little hums. Carefree. Shallow. She'd expected as much from her previous visit, but having this vapid superficial hum around her when the world was suffering clenched her heart in an iron grip.

She’d been so busy watching the crowds that she’d missed the tall form slowly but confidently striding up to her until he was nearly upon her, the hunch in his shoulders and the red Ascian mask covering half of his face unmistakable. How--?

“Attending a lavish ball and I didn’t even warrant an invitation?” he remarked as he stood next to her, hands sweeping out in mock outrage. “One might begin to think you didn’t desire my company.”

Her eyes snapped from him to the crowd again. No one seemed to be paying the two of them any mind despite the man’s theatrics, and Thancred was still nowhere in sight. Emet-Selch seemed to be all words and no plans so far as she’d seen in his brief introduction, and despite his flair for the dramatic, surely he wouldn’t create chaos in the middle of the masquerade? He hadn’t seemed eager to cause a commotion in the Crystarium. But there was no telling if his words could be even remotely trusted, what his plans may be, or if he was hiding something to unleash on them. She shouldn’t underestimate him.

He noticed her watching the crowd warily and sighed. “None here would recognize this mask, save perhaps one. I’m simply another guest at the masquerade to these pitiful half-lifes. Would you care to indulge me with your company? Parties such as this are so dull without a good conversation partner.” 

“What could you possibly want to talk about with me?” she asked in hushed tones, her eyes darting toward him and then back at the crowd. “You know who I am, and that I will do everything to stop you from another Rejoining. What more could we have to discuss?”

The disdain dripping from his voice was unmistakable. “Is that all you think about? Are you so eager to craft your entire persona around being ‘the hero’ that you’re above discussing the weather?” 

She turned to him then, incredulous. “What weather? There’s only ever light outside!”

“As a permanent fixture of the world, it is therefore an eternal topic of discussion, is it not?” Emet-Selch sighed heavily. “Well then, what would you talk about with the others about the floor? The gaudy decorations, perhaps? The garish fashion and soulless, vapid guests?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching his bored expression that gave nothing away. “If you think so little of this party, why are you here?”

“I would ask the same of you,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “We both know your presence here isn’t due to the celebrations themselves.” 

“Fine, then. Where is Kholusia’s lightwarden?” she asked, voice low, nervousness fluttering madly in her chest. Was she making a mistake asking him directly? Then again, he must already be aware of their plans to eliminate the lightwardens. What did she have to lose?

His lips curved into a wicked grin at the lower edge of his mask. “Ah, she speaks her mind at last. And what makes you think I know its whereabouts?”

“They’re integral to your plan. You’ve played your game long enough that I know you’re too good to not know the position of the pawns on the board.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, dearest hero, least of all with me.” He cocked his head then, his sharp yellow gaze watching her, assessing from behind his mask. “Though it won’t hurt to tell you that you’re closer than you know.” 

Could she trust that he was telling the truth? Or did he seek to mislead her and have her chase down false leads? “It’s below the tower then?”

Emet-Selch sighed so heavily then, he nearly folded inward on himself as he allowed his head to droop. “What’s the use of a riddle if you’re just going to interpret it literally?”

“What’s the point of answering a question with a riddle in the first place??” she hissed back. Something about him rose her hackles, and she couldn’t describe why. She’d been taunted by Ascians before, and Emet-Selch’s words were hardly more cryptic than those of his brethren; on the contrary, he was far from forthcoming but neither was he obtuse. But something about him made her want to fight. “Either it doesn't matter if we know, or it does. Why leave it up to chance?”

He was still giving her that unamused look, his tone mockingly slow as if pointing out something that should have been patently obvious. “To observe your methods. I can hardly determine whether we’re suited to be allies if I’m unfamiliar with how you operate.”

“‘How I operate’??” Cassandra bit back her words, trying to temper the volume of her voice. The last thing she needed to do was bring attention to herself. “I don’t do games, Emet-Selch. Either aid us if you truly wish, or stand aside. You may be immortal, but our lives are limited enough as it is.” 

His eyes seemed to dim then, his expression falling from derision to something… remote. Unreachable. He reached out then, one finger following the edge of her mask down her face and onto the line of her jaw. “That, I know all too well.” Leaning forward, his gloved finger lingered while his thumb hovered over her lip, the delicate chain at her chin growing warm. “Happy hunting.”

Emet-Selch pulled his hand away and in the same movement turned to leave with an exaggerated flippant flick of his wrist, his slow tired movements accentuated by his perpetual stooped shoulders. She watched him leave, the edge of her cheek tingling from the scrape of his glove, and once he’d disappeared from her sight around a corner, she pivoted and headed in the opposite direction with purposeful strides, not wanting to stand there any longer. She felt too exposed, needed to shake the burst of… whatever that had been, that had risen up in her. For much of the evening her nerves had keep her silent, but with him they’d nearly led to an outburst. Where in the seven hells had that come from?

She strode purposefully for the open air walkway that surrounded the Canopy, hoping that leaving the crush of the crowd inside would help her head to clear. Perhaps Thancred would spot her easier if she were alone and not one face in a sea of them.

She inhaled the sea breeze that tugged at and threaded through the low ponytail at her shoulder as she stepped out onto the suspended walkway over the Derelicts. The path was specifically created to hang out over the edge of the island, hiding the plight of those below from sight, and she leaned against the railing to instead look out over the horizon and try to make out the sun setting behind the glare of light. 

The sight was demoralizing, were she to be honest with herself. Before she’d come to the First, she couldn’t fathom the concept of light as a source of pain or misery. But now that she was here, observing it take over and stagnate overhead, robbing this world’s people of any chance of peace, she had finally understood the calamity that the Exarch and Minfilia had worked so hard to delay and avert. Watching the light aether suffuse and stale and stand still was terrifying, and she needed to stop it.

“Taking in the beauty? Perhaps I could fetch a mirror for you instead.”

Cassandra had been so wrapped up in her musing that she startled at the congenial voice next to her. Too distracted again. With a quickly indrawn breath, she attempted to turn in a somewhat coordinated manner to the tall man standing at her side, his gaudy dodo mask encrusted with gemstones.

He offered her a deep bow and a wide smile that she certainly didn’t trust, though she returned his gesture with what she hoped was an appropriate curtsy all the same. 

“It’s quite an honor to spy a fresh face! I don’t recognize you. Even with the masks, I know most of of the residents of Eulmore. How are you enjoying the masquerade, mysterious damsel?”

“It’s… like a dream,” she hedged. A dream of something pretty but wrong, something that became less beautiful and more horrific the longer one stared. 

The man leaned in, eyes sweeping over her quickly and lowering his voice to what she assumed was meant to be sultry murmur. “Then don’t wake up, angel. I’d like to stay a while. Unless your patron isn’t one for sharing?” 

She blinked, not sure how to respond to that; was she even supposed to? She knew what he was implying but she was a long way from Buscarron’s Druthers, from the drunks who had propositioned her and were easily turned aside with a laugh and failing that, a jab from her elbow. The unspoken rules of high society were ever elusive to her. 

At her silence, he chuckled as if he’d simply told a joke, though somehow she doubted that had been the case. “To whom do we owe the pleasure of your company? Perhaps someone I know?”

Cassandra had practiced their cover story, had recited it over and over in her head, but now when she needed it the most, it vanished from her mind and left her standing there wide eyed and with no response to offer. The air seized in her lungs and any words she attempted to summon turned to ash on her tongue.

The man’s eyebrows rose as her silence stretched on, then he settled into another smile. “Come, then, I hear the next dance is about to begin. We’ll take a turn about the floor together and see if we can spot your keeper.”

He reached down, snatched one of her hands in his, then raised it in what she assumed was some kind of deferential manner before pulling her along to the dance floor. Was this all right? She didn’t particularly want to dance with this man, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to extricate herself. Besides that, did a bonded citizen have the right to refuse a free citizen of Eulmore? And surely causing a scene would be worse than acquiescing? It was only a dance, she could hang on for that long. 

The man in the dodo mask pulled her to the outer circle of dancers, the hand grasping hers turning it in his grip. “There now, you’re a natural. Have you been taught--” 

“There you are.”

Cassandra struggled to remain still and not exhale in abject relief at the familiar voice, Thancred appearing at her side as if from thin air and wrapping his arm around her waist. The simple reassurance of his touch had her leaning against him more than she intended. 

The man eyed Thancred’s tight hold on her briefly before he allowed his hand to slip away from hers. After giving Thancred a wink and a nudge in the shoulder, the man wordlessly bowed to excuse himself. Thancred accepted the gesture with a genial smile and pulled her hand into his free one once he was out of the way.

“Are you all right?”

Cassandra sighed heavily, trying to keep from falling against him entirely as her tension fled. “Embarrassed is all.”

Before she could say more, the music swelled around them and the couples all moved this way and that to take up their positions. Right, the man had said another number was about to begin. 

Thancred lifted her hand between them, lowering his head to press his lips to her knuckles with the barest hint of pressure before he spoke quietly, the words only for her. “Care to dance? It would give us a chance to speak.”

She nodded immediately, the private smile that curved his lips in response nearly but not quite hidden behind her hand. She didn’t need justification to dance, not if it was with him.

His arm remained at her waist as their joined hands rose to their sides, and she recognized the dance as one she’d spied earlier when she’d been waiting for him and watching the crowd. Thankfully, she had the general gist of the movements, and Thancred’s lead allowed them both to step to the rhythm alongside the rest of the crowd of dancers with relative ease.

“What happened?” he began, his gaze darting to sweep their surroundings for a moment before returning to focus on her. 

Her lips pulled into a frown; she didn’t particularly want to admit to her failure, but keeping things from him served no purpose. “I just choked over a very easy question. Nothing happened, just… nerves. Subterfuge will never be something I’m good at.” 

He hummed in dissent. “The fault lies with me. How did you end up on your own?”

As she explained the events that led to the Exarch being called away and Emet-Selch approaching her, she felt his fingers at her side curl tighter against her.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again, his voice lower than before. His eyes were carefully sweeping over every inch of her with an intense focus that left her mouth dry. It made her feel strangely exposed. 

Thancred was ashamed that he hadn’t noticed that Cassandra had been alone. She’d been right to stay in one place, the better for him to notice her as he took stock of the room, but somehow he’d managed to miss her. How could he have missed her? Beyond the dress that put so much of her on display, she was real in a way no others in this entire misbegotten city were, to the point that not even keeping herself safe was enough to jeopardize her genuine nature. Not ideal for a mission requiring subterfuge, perhaps, but as far as their companions went, she had still been the best choice to accompany him. Should they encounter the lightwarden themselves, she had the best chance of getting them out alive. For that matter, it was also the case should the city itself turn on them. 

Honestly, there shouldn’t have even been a point where Cassandra needed to respond and offer answers, he should have been beside her. He should have realized that the arrogant leader of Eulmore would call for the Exarch at his whim rather than the appointed time. Still, he’d thought he’d had a moment to do what he did best: listen in from the shadows. Cassandra, as skilled and powerful as she was, was still a novice in stealth. He’d wanted just a short while to listen rather than cajole, in case that might yield different results, but alas, he’d had no luck whether from the shadows or from his precisely crafted questions. Though some of the free peoples of Eulmore were eager to speak of the sin eaters on the upper levels that resided with Vauthry, as if being in their presence was some honor to be proud of, none had seen any out of the ordinary or particularly powerful that would imply to him that a lightwarden was present. 

If not here, then where? He fervently hoped that it wouldn’t come to that; perhaps Alphinaud had seen or heard something come alight in his efforts. 

“Really, I’m fine,” she insisted, and that brought him back to the present, her small smile an attempt to reassure him. She squeezed his hand, and reflexively, he returned the pressure. “Did you have any luck?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Me either, beyond that madman’s riddle, if it’s even worth considering.”

“It’s more than I’ve heard all evening,” Thancred offered, his smile returning. “Perhaps I should be taking lessons from you.”

The thought was so absurd, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’d happily teach you what I know, though unfortunately it boils down to simply ‘find an Ascian and hope they wish to brag about something instead of kill you outright.’ It’s an awfully rare occurrence, unfortunately.”

The thought of Emet-Selch speaking to her gave him pause. Though Thancred hadn’t seen them speaking together tonight, even during their first encounter there had been something about the way the Ascian’s eyes lingered on her as if he found it difficult to pull them away, and it bothered him. The weight in that gaze had felt more personal than simply an Ascian contemplating the Warrior of Light. 

Thancred coaxed Cassandra into going over the conversation she’d shared with the Ascian one more time, but there wasn’t enough there to fill in the gaps. Something about it needled at him; he’d need to find a way to get some answers from the bastard.

If he’d taken to giving her hints and riddles, no doubt he’d be back sooner than any of them wanted. Thancred needed a plan for that, too. 

Once the dance had ended, he released her waist but not her hand, gently pulling her along to the the outer walkway. When he found a secluded spot with no other prying eyes about for the moment, he allowed her hand to slip from his grip and he leaned his elbows onto the railing. Though the sun had set, light shone overhead as it always did. Unending, unchanging.

Cassandra pressed herself against the railing next to him, eyes looking down though she couldn’t see the derelicts that she knew were below their feet. 

“Where did you find her?” The question fell unbidden from her lips, and after a moment, she continued. “The last time you were here, I mean.”

He knew who she was asking about, even before she elaborated. 

Minfilia.

His eyes never left the horizon, though his mind retraced the path he’d taken, the steps he’d raced to cover. His voice was flat when he responded. “In the depths of the tower. Below the waterline.” 

Cassandra inhaled sharply, her heart clenching tight in her chest. That meant… not just a cell, but one with no windows? That poor girl… 

She reached out, resting her hand on his sleeve. “It can’t have been easy for you, coming back here. We’ll find a way to fix… this place,” she said, sounding like a promise. “It may not be perfect, but I--”

A bellow from above shook him out of his reverie, and he and Cassandra shared a look before he immediately pulled her toward the main circling stairwell that led down and out of the tower. The bellowing continued, punctuated with heavy thumping; apparently the meeting with the Exarch had ended, and it hadn’t gone the way Vauthry had hoped. Not that this outcome was a surprise; certainly, it was the one truly predictable thing about the evening.

Thancred hoped that the Exarch had been correct in his assertion that once his projection was finished with its work, or forcibly destroyed, the crystal left in the fountain would take care of itself. For him and Cassandra, it was time to leave. 

He held her hand as they ran down the stairs, hoping to get to the bottom and out the main gate before Vauthry had any time to finish his tantrum and bellow orders. It brought to mind his escape from the tower with Minfilia, though at least this time they were both dressed to fit in as just another pair of guests as far as anyone knew. 

And Cassandra’s hand felt different in his. He’d grabbed Minfilia’s wrist, desperate to pull her to safety, but he hadn’t felt right doing the same to his current companion. A defenseless young girl was different from the vaunted Warrior of Light. Her delicate fingers curled around his, their constant pressure serving to remind him that she was with him.

When she squeezed tighter in panic, he felt the angle of her grip change and he pivoted just in time to catch her as she pitched forward. Surefooted, he straddled two steps as he pulled her close, her body pressed to his with their hands still intertwined.

Exhaling heavily in shock, she took a moment to replant her feet and nodded stiffly to him. Even with their hurried flight from the tower, he was reluctant to let her go but stepped back and continued forward, moderating his pace more carefully and keeping her hand tucked away in his.

One the base of the spiraling staircase was finally in sight, he slowed his descent and pulled Cassandra tighter to his side, murmuring to her, “Laugh with me.” 

Her awkward barked laughter would have had him wincing, were he not already schooling his expression. Changing tactics quickly, he continued, “Ah, if only you had something amusing to laugh at, for instance the time my charge and I discovered all of Urianger’s clothing had been replaced with flower garlands by the pixies. He emerged from the Bookman’s Shelves to greet us wrapped in nothing but blooms, looking like nothing so much as a float in a Little Ladies’ Day parade…”

Her laughter then was genuine, perfect, the sound warming him. He added in his own laughter to sell the act and merrily waved at the guards at the door, acting for all the world as if they were two carefree nobles out for a bit of air.

When one of the guards tried to stop them, Thancred shooed them off with a haughty gesture and another laugh and the two of them paraded their way through Gatetown, keeping up the merry charade. 

Once they’d passed the large cliff that hid the wretchedness of the outer hovels from the gates of the city, they rested against the side of the stone to shake off the feeling of the tower. 

“I wish we’d had better luck,” she murmured, her tone holding a hint of bitterness. “If only I’d tried harder--”

“Your job was to infiltrate with me and ensure that we both made it out alive,” he reminded her gently, “and by my estimate, you’ve done just that. Well done, Cassandra.” The buoyant smile that lifted the corners of her lips was contagious, its warmth spreading into his chest. He held out his arm to her, admittedly not in an effort to keep up the charade but just to keep her close. “Care to join me on a walk to Wright? I believe there’s a particular pair of twins who await our arrival.”

She accepted his arm gratefully. Somehow, despite the myriad of tense and stressful moments at the ball that nearly made her break out in a cold sweat just thinking about them, she wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end.

“Are you planning on keeping your dress?”

She blinked, considering the question as they walked arm in arm. “I… I’m not sure? I hadn’t considered it beyond tonight. I suppose it’s tailored for me personally now, though I can’t imagine where else I could possibly wear it. Isn’t it a bit much?”

Thancred had no need to cast his eyes over the figure beside him to remind himself how the dress looked; he’d already memorized the way the deep crimson highlighted the fawn tones of her skin, the teasing window to the curve of her spine, the impossibly high slit and near sheer stockings that hinted at the shapely legs beneath. He had no doubt the image would haunt him for nights to come, regardless of whether she ever wore it again. “I believe you promised me an Ishgardian ball, when we return. Perhaps it might be suitable, if you can manage to keep from freezing to death in it.”

Her laughter settled a tension in his chest that he couldn’t define. The road to Wright ahead of them was devoid of danger as far as he could sense, Minfilia was safe in the Crystarium, and he had a woman on his arm. Not just any woman, but the one who proffered the closest thing to the concept of “home” that he’d ever felt, who was finally by his side after years of waiting for her arrival. For the first time in a long time, he was truly content with where he stood. 

#ffxiv #shadowbringers spoilers #cassandra tygrova #thancred waters #crystal exarch #emet-selch #the title is a joke with my spouse #for all the times this game has been like #“stealth mission? send the white mage!” #“diplomacy? send the white mage!” #“grocery run? send the white mage!” #anyway this really was just an excuse to have a masquerade ball somewhere #and let cass have a fun time with her boyfriends #as a treat <3 #while wearing the nier casting gown hahaha