#urianger being on the offensive for once....

[minarcana]

Thancred smoothed a thumb side to side along the sheets of the bed in thought… it was more interesting that staring a hole into the wall waiting until his brain would let him sleep. He could hear Urianger reading behind him.

They’ve shared beds and makeshift sleeping places before in their youth… this felt different in so many ways.

He’d been pretending to sleep already when the Astrologian had come into the room, hoping that would ease the tension that had come with the offer of sharing the larger bed. Minfillia was given the “guest room” as her own, which was really just a space Urianger had been so thoughtful in putting together to give the girl privacy she has long been denied.

There was a couch in the main section of the cottage, but frankly the floor was more comfortable and Thancred would have continued to sleep on it until Urianger had caught him doing it the morning previous when the elezen had woken first by some curse of the twelve.

Now they were here.

Urianger attempting to read with the limited light of the room and Thancred pretending to sleep.

The Gunbreaker took a long inhale, and he could hear a page mid turn stall out behind him before Thancred rolled over and stared up at Urianger, already shaking his head as the other man opened his mouth to apologize for waking him.

“You didn’t—“ Thancred placated fingers streaming over the invisible line drawn down the bed, crossing the threshold to gently wrap a few fingers around Urianger’s wrist. He adjusted carefully, afraid if he moved too fast the man might just bolt, and moved both himself and Urianger a little so he could see the book too. “Light a candle… if you are to read, you may do so out loud.” Thancred reassured, a thumb smoothed against the soft inside of Urianger’s wrist as if he might still be able to feel the cool bands that rested there.

There was a long lull before Thancred spoke again with some shuffling for the Elezen to speak fire to the wick with care to read by.

“I adore your voice as I adore many things about you… surely you know this?” Thancred intoned, wondering what more he could do to share that swell of love and adoration that had sat in his chest for years for the other. “I wish you would not think yourself to blame so often,” Thancred wanted to reach out and smooth some of Urianger’s bangs back into their proper place, but he was feeling that urge to run he thought might be present in Urianger, wondering if it had been his own heart this time beating so fast in fear

Urianger had meant to set up sleeping arrangements for more than just Minfilia, but she had taken priority and then he had simply… been distracted by more important happenings. Making a bedroom for her that was welcoming and comfortable took precedence, and visiting the Crystarium to purchase supplies to do so takes some small amount of preparation. And if he were pressed about it, Urianger could not truthfully say he minded the fact there was only one other bed suited for occupancy.

He doesn't analyze the thought, or choose to acknowledge it at all, but the fact of the matter is that he would prefer if Thancred slept somewhere Urianger could keep an eye on him. There's a lasting anxiety that keeps prodding Urianger with imagining the future the Exarch told him of, where his friends lie dead, on top of acknowledging Thancred specifically has thrown himself into the most dangerous and tiresome path of them all, and hearing Thancred breathing eases Urianger's late-night worries.

There is also something he's well aware of that makes him extremely cognizant of the fact that sharing a bed would make Thancred physically closer to him than he's been in a while, and he could be forgiven for an accidental brush of skin. Even if that is rather selfish of him. That, he's come to terms with more than he has voicing his unnecessary worries about safety, as the former would probably sound like a dig at Thancred's capabilities and the latter merely an inconvenience.

As it is, Urianger sits on his bed, half reading a book and half absentmindedly listening to Thancred's breathing, in the dim light filtering from a muted table lamp that's barely enough to differentiate letters by. He doesn't want to wake Thancred, the other needs what sleep he can get. Urianger has heard the stories of his and Minfilia's journeying and sincerely doubts Thancred gets an even remotely acceptable amount of rest. So he stops mid-motion when Thancred inhales deeply, worried that movement from him or the bioluminescense of his nu mou-made night lantern was what roused him. Instead, Thancred shifts and grabs Urianger's wrist, stilling Urianger's worried attempt at adjustment immediately. “Ah?“ Thancred moves himself closely enough that he's leaning just a slight bit against Urianger, ostensibly looking down at the book in Urianger's lap.

”If… if thou shalt still commit thyself to rest for the evening.“ It's not the first time someone has implied to him that his voice is relaxing, though Thancred has not been one of those people afore this. It is incredibly distracting to work out that simple reply while Thancred's fingers shift against Urianger's unguarded inner wrist. Sir, please. He is doing his best to resist the urge to lean over, curl around Thancred and hold him to the constant feeling of affection for him that Urianger has realized since his settling in Il Mheg is just a part of himself now.

But that is an urge to resist. Urianger isn't sad over his certainty that Thancred is simply his friend, he's acknowledged that, too. A candle is procured, lit with the simplest of spells, and set on the table. Urianger debates if his urge to thread his fingers through Thancred's hair could be passed off as a generally amicable impulse. He's close, his head just barely a pressing weight against Urianger's side, and said urge is incredibly difficult to tamp back down. Just to touch him, a little bit, it would be fine if-- well, largely if Urianger were any other person, where a freedom of touch and gesture were less remarkable.

Thancred's voice coming back nearly startles him, Urianger lost enough in his own thoughts that he forgot Thancred was ostensibly waiting for him to do something. The choice of word Thancred makes is a jolt. Both times, 'adore' is a tugging feeling there towards his companion, Urianger's wide-eyed look of surprise and the beginning of an embarrassed flush about his ears just barely visible in the candle's glow. ”That which I know is….“ Not that?

That Thancred is his dear friend and companion and coworker, and they are not meant to have in other intentions toward one another, for they are coworkers and atop that Thancred's taste runs different from whatever category Urianger occupies. Urianger inhales deeply, holds his breath for a second, to marshal his thoughts. He has to choose his words, make exacting statements while his impulses are in turmoil. (With this undertones, is it not an invitation to reach out and touch Thancred as he wishes to? But invitations must be stated, less he misinterpret, and surely he misinterprets.) ”I knoweth only that which I am told.“

What are the many things, how does Thancred define 'adore'? One can adore a friend, a pet, one can adore a partner, too. If he misinterprets-- a series of words-for and aspects-of adoration (love) skims under his thoughts, almost voiced. (Would you like a list, Thancred, definition and example, for he could offer this whispered against the side of your neck, too embarrassed to look up but too fervent to stop?) ”And 'tis my fear that I may lose what I hold dear and hath tried my utmost to protect, should I overact.“

He does want to protect, both Thancred in general and his friendship in particular, his nearness and his ability to feel like he and Minfilia can rest in Urianger's care. This trust, he must keep above all else. There is a pause. Urianger leans down, close but not touching the other. “Thancred, if I asked thy permission to be close to thee, in touch or in emotion, what would thou grant me?” He doesn't quite know how he even would express himself in words, for all he's thought about and come to a simple acceptance of his thoughts he's never really needed to quantify them.

He has nothing more concrete to delineate with words other than that statement that he will take and perform whatever he is granted. He doesn't have exact words cut out and delineated, strung in neat sentences to express the tugging feeling that makes him want to hold Thancred against him, to become someone 'safe' and 'reliable' and to have attention he doesn't know how to ask for, either. Just tell him where the line is, so he can toe it, know his limits as to what would make Thancred step back and lose Urianger the trust required to have Thancred accept his protection.

#long post #the LONGEST post #THIS IS ONE THOUSAND WORDS LONG BECAUSE I AM NORMAL about URITHAN #jokes on thancred shb urianger actually knows what hes about #shb urianger was in il mheg for like 30 minutes alone with his thoughts and went 'oooohhhhh i love thaaancred that makes sense actually' #'time to never bring that up again outside of going ^u^ when he shows up' #urianger being on the offensive for once.... #ic : urianger #asks #THANCRED & URIANGER | i touched your hand which has never slept #i could have put this behind a readmore. i could have. but i didnt.

[seaseren]

“We don’t even have physical bodies here in the First,” Thancred griped, looking at the toothbrush being thrust towards him with offense. “What does it matter if our soul’s teeth are brushed?”

Prim seemed unphased by his dismissiveness. “It matters that you remain in the habit. Build it back now and it will be that much easier when you do return to your bodies.” Her cool brown eyes examined him, then narrowed. “And not everyone is a disembodied soul. Tell me true- have you been making sure Minfilia brushes her teeth?”

Thancred’s guilty silence was answer enough. Minfilia, who had been the first recipient of a toothbrush, paused in her work guiltily.

“...I still don’t appreciate being treated like a child,” is what Thancred came up with after several long moments of silence. 

Prim sighed and shook her head. “Well, it appears I’ll have to resort to stronger measures.” She reached into one of her many pockets and, with a flourish, produced a very familiar sheet of star shaped stickers. Thancred groaned aloud at the sight.

“Minfilia first,” Prim said, and the girl resumed her brushing double time. Once done to Prim’s satisfaction, she affixed one shiny star onto her knives, then, after thorough examination, presented one to the twins and Urianger as well. Finally she rounded on Thancred once more. The two made steady, level eye contact, both faces unreadable- until Thancred rolled his eyes, cursed under his breath, and snatched the toothbrush out of her hand. Prim smiled, radiating self-satisfaction, and administered a star to his gunblade.

#ffxiv #Primrose Lyons #dont think im gonna tag anyone else lol. this is very self indulgent #done on my phone so. formatting. #unfortunately the star stickers work on the scions. this is what Academia City will do to your psyche. #(she started it because it worked devestatingly well on the twins)

[insomniyawn]

hi im zee and i have a lot of feelings about magnai oronir! rambling about it a bit under the cut

i think hes really easy to misinterpret, but on the flip side of that i cant even blame people for it. a lot of his character shines through in optional dialogue, such as him musing on baatu's wife being a great healer who tended to him after naadam. i think its a cute look into his views on love- its easy to interpret him as some incel-y dom type, but you get little bits like that where he shows how he wants to be doted on. how he envisions his fairy tale romance!

which isnt to say he isnt a more dominant type. he doesnt hesitate to walk up to yshtola and plead for her answer, and even in optional dialogue he worries he may be too much, "if i were to meet my nhaama on the frozen plains, a woman as pure as the driven snow, do you think that the suns radiance would burn too brightly for her?" of course, we also factor in that a vital part of his spirituality is that he believes himself a direct descendant of azim. he was also khagan, which is a hefty position to be in, so i do think hes more used to that in charge mentality. why he honestly struggles with the idea of a dominant partner.

and this is where i do get the incel comments- hes very much reduced to a bit, which i very much dislike. i think the varied spirituality of the xaela tribes is some of the most beautiful world building in xiv and not only did they do nothing with it; they quite frankly watered it down for not just magnai but sadu and cirina too. it was disappointing to watch happen. though, i dont think hes full on incel since hes receptive to the answers he gets. but that scene in endwalker where hes commenting on how the ladies were dressed definitely had me thinking "youve got to reflect on how you speak to women." hes got a bit of misogyny to sort out. but so does the entire game honestly LMAO, and to be fair urianger also gets "slutshamed" by cirina so its not the most offensive bit to me

i want to say i fully dislike how hes written post stb, but i personally cant help be charmed by how stupid magnai is. i dont think its entirely inaccurate either- i dont think this was intentional, but i think its natural for walls to be formed after being bullied for how romantic his mind was from a young age. for him to respond to that treatment by digging his heels in and remaining firm on what he wants, potentially dismissing well meaning suggestions as the former bullying.

i also cant say i think its accurate though, hes shown in stormblood to be a pretty thorough khagan who honestly wouldve stayed on top if the literal wol didnt step in. i dont think hes as stupid as some bits make him out to be. though to be fair, its entirely possible his brain just processes situations he can approach strategically better as opposed to ones he has to bring emotion into.

ultimately though, i think what he really wants is a partner he can rest with. so much is expected of him, and he yearns for someone who can tend to him for once. i think its really charming! i wish that was shown in a way that reflected how charming it is. again, though, i can say that about sadu and cirina too. xaela lore is some of my favorite writing and they really didnt keep it up in endwalker imho... still gonna kick my feet and giggle every time i see magnai though hehehe

#bark bark.txt #this is me half asleep trying to piece together wtf tgeyre doing with him in endwalker as someone who just started it i think #magnai musings if you will

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

unexpected hitch (shadowbringers)

(takes place shortly before Ran’jit’s first meeting with the Exarch)

----------

The whole affair was giving him a bad taste in his mouth.  And as if fate had decided to simply make matters worse...

I couldn’t stop her!  She just went through--and came back with them!

"I warned you that trying to separate them would not end well.”  Urianger ground out.  The ‘them’ being Riven’s fellow Warriors of Light.  The success of the overall plan hinged on Riven being completely isolated from her sworn-brothers.  In fact, Urianger suspected that the senior Scions being pulled to the First and not them was no accident-despite what the Exarch claimed. The twins would believe his words, as would Thancred. Y'shtola was...well, Y'shtola. She'd immediately sensed the charade, and when she couldn't get any answers, she had left the Crystarium. But she would generally trust that he only had good intentions--and so everything had seemed to be going well...

And then as was her wont, Riven had set everything awry. When the Exarch had (finally) initially gotten a lock on her soul to transport her to the First, it had been in the midst of a major offensive between the Empire and the Eorzean Grand Alliance. Urianger wasn't fully aware of the details, but he'd partly eavesdropped on the talk between Riven and the Exarch after her summoning had finally been successful (somewhat).

Riven had been angry. And she had every right to be, but it had been a while since Urianger had seen her that worked up. Had the Exarch been his younger self, he would have wilted under the force of her rage. Urianger had to admit to a personal satisfaction as Riven unleashed months of pent-up anxiety for the well-being of her friends.

"Where are they now?"

Settling in. Though I expect another confrontation, more than likely from Bishop. I gave orders for them to have the same privileges as she does. I just know that'll set his suspicions off. The Exarch replied.  Urianger sighed.

"I will do my best, but I can make no promises." He said. "I know Riven will believe me. If she believes me, they will extend me the same grace. How much, depends on them individually."

Can you handle them if the need arises? Urianger was silent for several moments.

"...There may be no need." He finally said. "Bishop will be the most suspicious, but he has the heart of a true healer. He will be distracted by the pain and suffering of this world. Augustine and Reinhardt will have their hands full ensuring everyone's safety once Vauthry realizes Riven is a threat to him and his plans. Sebastian will more than likely take up the challenge to try and bring additional aetherical balance back to what remains of this realm." Urianger paused for several moments, them continued.

"And Riven will throw herself heart and soul into stopping the Lightwardens. Her brothers will be distracted, and by the time the corruption begins, she'll pass it off as stress." The words had a bitter taste on Urianger's tongue. So much could go wrong with this plan, but it was all they had. Once again he was using his trusted companions, his friends, like game-tokens on a board.

Please gods, do not let this end in her death! Everyone else was expendable, even the Exarch and him. Riven had to live, had to survive this ordeal. Even if it came with the loss of the Scions, of her beloved sworn-brothers...she had to live. Her continued existence and the breaking of the Lightwardens' hold on the First superseded all else. The Exarch was silent, perhaps considering Urianger’s words.

It will all work out in the end. He offered. But the platitude was weak, and both men knew it.  Too much hinged on this plan, this sheer desperate gamble.  Urianger had no doubts that if the scheme was threatened, the Exarch would become even more ruthless than he already was.

Let it not come to that, please!

“I assume once they are fully settled, you will send them here?”  There was no answer to the question, and Urianger frowned.

“Exarch?”

I have to go.  Something has come up--but yes.  I would advise that you start getting ready to receive guests.  And with that, the linkpearl signal cut out, leaving Urianger alone with his thoughts and guilt. 

#ffxiv #urianger augurelt #crystal exarch #wol riven #small warning I do drag this man for the bullshit he pulled #and i have a partial headcanon that spell yanking was on purpose #in the case of riven and the crew if the spell went nutty to grab the ones closest to her heart instead #then the guys should have gotten yoinked over as well #g'raha tia is not on very good terms with riven and the guys #for the stunts pulled back on the first

[therisingphoenixden]

Prompt #17: Of Things New And Old

Prompt: Novel

Characters: Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt, Berude Eijinn (with subtle hints of Thancred/Berude/Urianger)

Content Warnings: Aside from the obvious ShB spoilers, small mentions of past alcohol abuse.

Author’s Notes: Well, this one got away from me! I didn’t intend for it to wind its way into polyship territory, but here we are! Also, not-angry Thancred was ridiculously fun to write.

There was a spark in the Crystarium that hadn’t existed before the Warrior of Darkness came and brought back the night sky; first to Lakeland, then Il Mheg, and eventually all of Norvrant basked in the cycles that the natives of the Source had taken for granted all their lives. 

After five years - nearly six now, by his admittedly poor tracking of time - of ever-constant unnatural daylight, Thancred Waters could easily see the novelty of night. The unending days had always seemed to blur together. Especially while on the run with his young charge. 

He frowned into his nearly empty tankard. The choice Minfilia - no - Ryne had made truly had been the only choice at the time to find the Lightwarden hidden in Ahm Araeng. He had still been terrified, although he wasn’t sure whose loss he would have mourned more. The old Minfilia he had once loved or the young girl he had come to care for like a daughter.

Once he pulled his head out of his arse long enough to realize that, yes, he did care for this girl he had been so terrified to allow close.

In the end, the young girl’s spirit won out and the loss of the Minfilia he loved hadn’t hurt nearly as much as he feared. Deep down, he knew he had come to terms with her loss and  that, truthfully, she was already lost after Hydaelyn claimed her. Sure, he felt the old wounds from Urianger’s betrayal flare to life, but it was quickly smothered by the joy he felt when Ryne declared herself her own person, eyes bright with determination and pride in herself.

He found another tankard of ale being pressed into his hand as he watched the celebrations in the Musica Universalis. The drahn bartender - tall with tanned skin, long dark hair, and ivory scales similar to Ru’s with horns that curved forward - winked at him. “For one of the heroes who brought back the night!”

Thancred raised his tankard in thanks and slowly sipped his ale. This would be the one thing he would miss once the Exarch figured out the logistics of sending them home. Not just the drinks, the camaraderie born from the necessity of survival.

Gods, he was getting soft in his old age. Or maybe it was the sudden fatherhood?

“Room for two more?” A soft, lightly accented voice purred, breaking his train of thought. He turned to see the true hero of the hour, the Warrior of Darkness herself, and Urianger. Her ever-present shadow. He should have known something had been going on between them after the journey to Il Mheg. 

But he knew Urianger had been recruited and trained by Louisoix for more than just his mind. How else would he have pulled off the plan that had cost them…

No! He wasn’t going down that path again. He would acknowledge the fact that Urianger had one-upped and outplayed him in the arena of covert operations.

Dual wielding daggers alone did not make a spy, after all.

“Thancred?” Berude regarded him with concern. Had he forgotten to respond to her question?

“Right! Yes, always. The more the merrier!” His delivery was abrupt, stilted, and he saw the concern in his friends’ eyes.

“How much hast thou drunk, friend?” He felt Urianger’s hand on his shoulder and his cheeks immediately heated.

He could feel the concern rolling off of Urianger at this point, yet he couldn’t find offense in either of them for worrying. He hadn’t exactly been at his best after it was revealed to him that Minfilia had become the Word of the Mother, then had departed for the First shortly after. “This one’s only my second, and I’ve not yet touched it.” He set the tankard down and truly looked at his friends for the first time since their arrival.

He could barely restrain himself. ‘Seven hells!’ When had Berude talked Urianger into donning trousers? The whole outfit wasn’t dissimilar to his robes, but the way the front of his sleeveless top draped into a deep v-cut that exposed far more chest than he was used to seeing from the prim astrologian…

Gods, this was an all-new line of thought! But he also hadn’t seen this much of Urianger before.

With Berude, he was so used to her monk raiment of a simple red breast band and loose white trousers. Except that was all she wore, paired with simple sandals, and he noticed the trousers had cutouts at the sides, displaying a hint of skin and the white scales at her hips. Her hair hung in loose curls instead of tied back into a simple bun.

By the Twelve, he was not prepared for this rush of new feelings regarding his friends!

Berude leaped back as Thancred blacked out, only for Urianger to catch him in his arms. “We should take him to my quarters, ensure he’s comfortable.”

-

Awareness slowly crept back to Thancred as the sun woke him. He was warm, the bed was soft, he was being held from both sides…

Being…held…?

His eyes snapped open and he looked down. He saw two arms, one slender and pale with stripes of ivory scales, the other tanned and surprisingly well-muscled for who it belonged to. A tail had also wrapped itself around his hips. All three of them were still clothed, albeit for sleeping, so he could rest easily there. He hadn’t gotten blackout drunk again and tried to talk his way into bedding his friends.

Hadn’t he? He usually had a code regarding that. Even when he turned to drink to numb the pain from Minfilia’s loss, he hadn’t given in to flirtations from Hoary Boulder.

No. The last thing he remembered was being overwhelmed and passing out from a combination of conflicting feelings, exhaustion from traveling nearly the entire breadth of Norvrant from the Tempest after a grueling battle, and drinking ale on an empty stomach. The spacious room had to be Berude’s private suite in the Pendants. That his friends cared so much about him, despite him being an aurochs’ arse  during most of their time on the First, touched him.

Perhaps more than friends, if the way Berude and Urianger were nuzzling him as they, too, woke to greet the day was any indication of their intentions last night. Of all the revelations from the First, this was the most surprising.

If they were open to adding a new dynamic to their relationship, he was more than happy to explore it with them.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #cw: alcohol #urianger augurelt #berude eijinn #thancred waters #pre thancred x wol x urianger

[leejafythe]

Dancer and the Lightwardens: Chapter 9

Long Live the King - Original posted here

A brief stop at the Bookman’s Shelves meant that the four of them could change out of the damp and cold gear and warm up. Leeja had no qualms about changing in front of Thancred and Urianger, gods know that they’d seen her like it before, but she felt immediately worried about changing in front of Minfilia. So, she went to the bedroom and changed quickly before heading back down again. “Okay, I feel much better and much warmer now.” She noticed Thancred and Minfilia had left already.  “The others have gone ahead to scout the way. Come, let us follow.” Urianger and Leeja left and made their way toward a cliff. “Past yonder cliff lieth Pla Enni, home of the Nu Mou.” As they walked, Leeja’s curiosity of the area got the better of her. “Hey, Urianger? You’ve been here for a while now, can you tell me anything about the area and where we’re going?” “Of course. If the path striketh thee as precipitous, 'tis because it was once a mountain trail. For where the lake now lieth, there was a valley, in whose midst thrived the city of Voeburt. 'Twas only when the Fuath came, in the wake of the Flood, that the settlement was drowned.” She raised an eyebrow. “The Fuath did this? We got away pretty lucky then. Remind me never to get on their bad side again.” Urianger chuckled a little. “We stand now upon its former outskirts. Grazing lands where shepherds once tended their flocks. Though one cannot help but feel a pang of loss when faced with such a spectacle, one can scarcely blame the fae folk for so altering the land.” He continued to tell her everything he knew. About the Light, about feeling glad he was there. “In truth, I can no more ignore the plight of this world than I can choose to stop breathing. And thus do I labor─for those we have lost. For those we can yet save.” “We’ll save this world and we’ll save the Source. I’ll give it everything I’ve got against the Lightwardens as well” she said confidently. 

As they continued to walk along the path, two pixies stopped them. “Aha! Mortals, just as we thought!” “Hast thou business with us?” Urianger asked them. They seemed to take offense to the question. “I don’t trust them” Leeja said quietly. “Business? Ha! Nothing so boring! We smelled you coming, and thought we'd come to play!” They laughed and floated around them. “We don’t have time to play, I’m afraid. We have to go, but we’ll play another day” Leeja said to them. The pixies looked at each other with mischievous grins.  “They do not appear to be pixies of Lydha Lran.” Urianger said softly. Leeja shook her head, and before she could say another word, the pixies cackled. “Ohhh, in some haste, are you? Then allow me to hasten you on your way! Tee hee hee!” With a sudden poof, they had sent Leeja and Urianger further back, delaying them even further.

Leeja grumbled under her breath, cursing them in Hannish and making Urianger laugh softly. He gave her a fae cloak for them to get through the mountain, stopping them from being teleported back and forth. She dispelled it once she made it to the top and found Thancred and Minfilia. “We lost sight of you. Is everything all right?” Minfilia asked her. “I assumed you were right behind us. What took you so long?” Thancred raised an eyebrow. “Pixies decided they wanted to play with Urianger and I. So it took a little longer. My apologies” Leeja grumbled, making Thancred chuckle. “That is a valid excuse for lateness.” Urianger appeared not long after and they made their way into the cave.

They were met in the cave by a creature that Leeja assumed was a Nu Mou. “Ah! Ahhh! Mortals! Mortals are here! Lots of them!” They ran off further in and the four of them frowned, confused. 

“I thought you said the Nu Mou were men's best friends. The poor thing was beside itself with fear.” Thancred looked at Urianger.

“I don’t think it’s fear. I think it’s excitement. Urianger, do you agree?” Leeja looked up at him as he nodded. Leeja’s ears flicked as she heard someone running over to them. 

“This is unacceptable! Unacceptable, I tell you! To have so many mortals appear at once… It's more excitement than we can bear!” Leeja chuckled. Urianger greeted the elder Nu Mou with a smile. When he explained what they wanted and why they were here, Wyd Aenc, the elder Nu Mou, warned them of the danger, and how they had lost many of their own to seal Titania away in the castle. 

“Don’t worry, no one will come to harm.” Leeja tried to ease their worry. “But then you'll only become another Lightwarden! It changes nothing!” Leeja felt bad for them.  “We defeated the Lightwarden in Lakeland, We can free the king from their prison” she spoke calmly. Wyd Aenc was still dismissive. Urianger tried instead. “Honored Elder, pray believe me when I say that this woman is possessed not only of the strength required to vanquish the king, but of something still more valuable: a means to resist the resultant corruption. Indeed, she hath already laid low the Lightwarden of Lakeland, all without succumbing to the influence of its light.” The elder grumbled for a moment, ruminating on Urianger’s words. They wanted them to wait for a turn of the moon for an answer, yet they didn’t have the time for that.

And then Urianger, with all his clever tricks, found a way to make the nu mou elder work with them. They agreed to talk it over and give the group an answer as soon as they could, though the did ask for assistance and Leeja was more than happy to do so, with Minfilia close behind her. Leeja went about, gathering things to help the nu mou show that they were more than willing to assist. First, it was moss fungus legs, then it was removing flame spores. Then it retrieving invisible ink. This task, though, Minfilia wanted to help. “E-Excuse me, Leeja, but I couldn't help overhearing. If you mean to undertake this task, will you let me accompany you? I would learn from you...and help in what little way I can.” Leeja smiled and nodded. “Of course you can! I’d be happy to have your assistance” Leeja said with a smile.  “Thank you so much!” Minfilia smiled widely.  “Where abouts are we going to find these Lawless Ones?” She looked at Wyd Ladd. “The lawless ones make their lair to the south, inside a cave called Father Collard's Chambers. They took many vials of ink, and I would be grateful if you could bring as many back as possible” they told her. Both women nodded and headed out of the cave together.

“So, Minfilia, Thancred taught you to fight with daggers?” Leeja asked .  “Yes. But I’m still a novice” Minfilia said quietly. Leeja smiled and dug through the little pouch on her belt. She dug out her ninja stone and attuned to it, her gear set changing out from her dancer gear to the gear she used better for infiltration.  “I suppose this would be a better set to wear” Leeja popped the stone in a small pocket she had attached to her shoulder. “I can teach you what I know, if you want? I learned from some friends of mine, Thancred taught me as well so I have a bunch of different types of skills” she offered. Minfilia nodded a little. “Do you know how to vanish, make yourself invisible?”  “You mean, like this?” She vanished, making it hard for Leeja to see her.  “Perfect. We’ll sneak in using vanish and find the ink and meet back out here after, how does that sound?”  “Okay!” Leeja grinned and vanished herself, the pair of them senaking into Fther Collard’s Chambers. Between the two of them, they found then ink and left quickly. Minfilia had gotten outside before Leeja and as soon as she was clear, she dropped the vanish and found Minfilia. “Oh, thank goodness. There you are. Those Nu Mou were rather frightening. I'm glad you're safe.” Leeja nodded and smiled. “I’m glad you’re safe too. Did you find what you could?” “I haven't seen much actual combat, so I was a little nervous, but I'm happy I could help.” “Hey, regardless of your combat experience, I’m glad you’re here. I can always defend you, but I bet you can hold you own in a fight” Leeja smiled and attuned to her dancer stone once more. Minfilia began to tell her about the past, and the fact that she knew Thancred had spoken to their Minfilia. It broke her heart listening to the girl, and it made her upset at Thancred for his reaction.  “Minfilia, I–” Leeja was cut off as Leeja’s echo and Minfilia both heard the roar and both heard Titania, desperately wanting to be freed. When the vision ended both of them groaned from the headache it triggered. “Let’s head back, we’d better get ready, just in case.” She mentally remined herself to have a talk with Thancred.

The pair of them split off as Leeja went to deliver the ink, and Minfilia went to find Thancred. Wyd Ladd was overjoyed with his ink returning that he made a gift for Leeja. The elder rounded the Scions up, ready to provide an answer. “Before I begin, please allow me to express my gratitude for your kind patronage. Having been deprived of purpose for so long, our people are overjoyed at being able to serve again.” “It’s been our pleasure. Have you come to a conclusion about allowing us the stone scepter?” Leeja asked, slightly hopeful.  “During our deliberations, we were forced to concede that we will never have the power to deal with our fallen monarch. We can release Titania neither from the castle nor from torment. In light of this, we have decided to entrust their fate to you.” They handed the scepter to Leeja who placed it securely in her bag. “Thank you. I promise you, this land will be freed of the tyranny of Light and I’ll free the king” she said. The nu mou nodded, believing her words. They warned them of Titania’s power and what to expect. Then they made a threat to keep them all there. Until Feo Ul stepped in and reminded them that Leeja was their sapling instead.

They left and began to make their way toward the direction of the amaro. “Hey, Urianger? Can you and Minfilia go on ahead? I need to speak with Thancred.” “Of course. Come, Minfilia. Let us away” the elezen looked at her. Minfilia looked at Leeja for a moment, getting a small nod and a smile.  “It’s alright, we’ll catch up” she reassured her. They went on ahead, leaving the two of them alone. “She knows.” “Excuse me?” He frowned at her. Leeja sighed and looked at him. “She’s not stupid, Thancred. She came with me for one of the tasks for the nu mou and she confided in me what happened in Ahm Araeng.” She said softly, watching as the two ahead of them grew further away. Thancred sad nothing. “Thancred…” She stopped and grabbed his hand, tugging him backward. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Please?” “We do not have time for this” he pulled his hand free and walked away. Leeja sighed and shook her head. Leeja followed silently, not saying another word to him. 

In the middle of the ruins of Wolekdorf, a giant amaro slumbered. Out the corner of her eye, Leeja noticed Ardbert standing there, in absolute shock and disbelief and she made out the word “Seto” from him. With a soft smile, she looked at the sleeping bird and said his name.  “Seto?” “Ard…bert?” He said, opening his eyes and lifting his head. When he didn’t see the warrior standing there, and instead saw Leeja and her companions, he seemed a little disappointed. “Oh. Forgive me, I was...having a dream. Seldom do men visit us. What brings you to our village?” “Pray, forgive us interrupting your rest but, we’d like to borrow th glass slippers. We mean to take back the night for you” Leeja said politely. Seto frowned and looked at the group. “Did I hear you aright? You desire the crystal shoes...that you may confront the Lightwarden? No. No, you mustn't think such thoughts.” He told them. “I promise you, I’m immune to the Light, I can free you all.” She said. “Not just me, but Minfilia here iss as well.” “Even if you are indeed immune to the Light's corruption, as you claim, vanquishing the king will bring you naught but sorrow. Forget this folly. Return whence you came.” And with that, Seto refused to say another word to them. They walked away to decide what to do next.

Urianger explained what they needed to do and why Seto reacted the way he did. It meant, once again, to do various tasks for the amaro in a bid to let Seto know how dedicated they are to the cause. “They're so fluffy, it's like touching a cloud!” Minfilia said excitedly as she pet the amaro gently. Leeja couldn’t help but laugh. Leeja went and gently stroked three of the amaro. It reminded her of her own chocobo, who she missed dearly. When she had done everything she could to win over the other amaro, she went back to her companions. “I’ve done everything I can. I don’t know what else I can do.” “Seto? May we talk?” She asked, looking up at him. He raised his head to look at her.  “You have spoken with my brethren. Then you see it is not out of scorn that I deny you the relic… I simply cannot bear to see men fight and die. Not anymore. None of us can. To lose one who has placed a gentle hand on us even once fills our hearts with untold sorrow, as my brothers and sisters will readily attest.” It surprised Leeja how much he wanted to to protect and keep them all alive. “I understand, I do, but this is something I must do. Will you trust in me?” He huffed out a breath. “Tell me, why do you wish this? This land is no longer man's to fight for, nor will your doing so compel the fae folk to change. And in order to obtain the other relics, you will already have paid the due price. Naught more is owed. Why then would you risk all to face our fallen king?” He asked. Leeja thought for a moment, and when she had her answer, she gave it to him. “To save the world. And to keep a promise to my friends.” “What...did you say...? The very words... Could it be mere coincidence?” She canted her head curiously. He agreed to help her, so long as she could defeat sin eaters that had been seen in the area. When she had prepared herself, she went off to meet Seto, while being thoroughly aware of Thancred and Minfilia following behind her. She smiled a little, re-attuning to her nina stone to allow Minfilia to watch her closely. “Leeja─ might I prevail upon thee to confer with Seto in private? The task of slaying the Lightwarden will ultimately be thine, and it is for thee, I believe, that he worrieth most. Tell him of thy many great deeds. Spoken in earnest, thy words may yet move him to change his mind.” Urianger urged. Leeja nodded and went over to Seto.

Seto waited in a clearing for her and once she had initiated her Ten Shi Jin and gave him a nod, she roared, allowing the sin eaters to find their location. Leeja didn’t hold back and used all of her energy, taking them down quickly whilst barely breaking a sweat. “You made short work of those creatures, I will not deny it… I have seen enough. Let us return to Wolekdorf.” He flew back and Leeja walked back. “You’ve improved, it seems” Thancred said as she walked past him. Leeja didn’t know what to say, and instead chose to remain quiet. “May you teach me your style?” Minfilia asked. Leeja turned to face her and gave her a soft smile and a nod. “Of course. When we return to the Crystarium, come and find me. I’ll show you my style.” Leeja turned nad headed back to the ruins. Thancred watched her leave, saying not a word.

It stung. It#s his own fault, of course and he knows it, but the fact she chose to ignore him completely? Ouch . He’d have to grovel for her forgiveness. The last time she chose to not anything to him was back in Ishgard. He sighed and shook his head. “Come, let us return as well.” “I-Is she upset with us?” Minfilia asked quietly. “She is upset with me, I’m sorry to say. You and Urianger are quite alright.” He walked off and Minfilia followed quickly.

When they had both returned, Seto was more than satisfied. However, it woul take some time for the amaro to recover the shoes. Seto had a personal request for the miqo’te. To recover a lost medallion in the button of the lake. Leeja agreed and headed down to the lakeside, removing various pieces of clothing along the way and tucking it into her bag. The other gear had been left to dry in the Bookman’s Shelves, and she would have to equip another stone should she run out o dancer gear. When she reached the lakeside, she slipped off her book and dove into the water, swimming downward until she reached the area Seto had requested to look. Shifting rubble about was somewhat easier with the water and she found a shiny disc. She dug it out and it was the medallion, just as Seto had described it. 

When Leeja resurfaced, she was met by Thancred. He had removed his coat and was ready to warm her up with it. “Did you find it?” He watched her dry her legs and tug on her boots.  “Yes.” “And I assume you’ve won Seto’s favour?” A brief nod. Thancred frowned a little. “Leeja…” He watched her shiver as she tugged her jacket back on. As he went to put his coat around her shoulders, she walked away. He sighed, frustrated. “Leeja, talk to me. Please? What have I done?”  “Nothing” she walked off, rubbing at her arms as she continued to shiver. He jogged on up the hill. “At least put this on, just until you warm up.” She didn’t stop. She gave him the same treatment he gave her when she had tried to talk to her earlier, and he knew just how frustrating of a feeling it was. With a huff, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him. “I screwed up. I know that. Please, darling, talk to me. What can I do?” She tried to pull away and he just tightened his grip. “No. Talk to me.” Leeja growled, a low, warning growl, and dug her nails into his wrist hard as she stamped on his foot and shoved him away as he hissed fron the pain.  “We do not have time for you to decide whether you want to be open with me or not. So, I will make the choice for you. Until such time as you want to talk like adults, I will not give you the satisfaction of a one-sided conversation. Now piss off and let me get my damn job done.” Leeja walked away and Thancred just stared. She had never spoken to him like that before, and he knew he completely screwed up.

Leeja returned Seto’s medallion to him upon her return and began to tell her all about Ardbert and their time together. “Ardbert was a trusting soul, constantly being drawn into the troubles of others. Yet in spite of this, he never thought twice when he saw someone in need. He always tried to help. It was no different then. The world needed heroes─it needed him. And yet… He was a good man. He deserved to be happy. I wish I could have told him that, at least…” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the bright figure that was Ardbert. She gave Set a gentle smile. “I’m sure Ardbert knows how you feel, Keep your medallion safe, alright?” “You remind me of him. Your kindness…” Leeja was fairly certain she could have spotted the shine of tears from them both. He told her about how the amaro were created and how her soul and Ardbert’s were strikingly similar. She was given the shoes and she placed them safely with the other relic.

“That’s all four. Time to go and open the cast–” “There's trouble! Terrible trouble!” Oul Sigun flew toward them as quickly as they could. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” Thancred frowned as her, Urianger and Minfilia walked over.  “Together with the twins, we were playing tricks on some nasty mortals to stop them from setting foot in Il Mheg. At first they ran off screaming, which was lots of fun! But then a scary, bony, wrinkly old mortal came along and spoiled everything! None of our tricks seem to work on him, which is no fun at all, and now they're getting closer and closer..” Oul Sigund saud qyucjky, “Ran’jit” both Leeja nad Thancred said at the same time. “ If he manages to find his way in, all our efforts will have been for naught.” Thancred continued. “Go to the village, I’ll face the king alone. With Ran’jit you’ll need all the strength you can get” she gave them a brief nod, and, despite his reluctance, Thancred agreed.  “Should we succeed in staying their advance, all the better. Yet even should we fail, if we can but delay our enemy's arrival long enough for thee to secure victory, our plan may still be deemed a success.” Leeja nodded briefly. “So the moment the lights go out, we all beat a hasty retreat, yes?” “Sounds like a plan to me. We should get going, I’ll come and find you the moment I’m done.” “Let me come with you! I have the blessing too!” Minfilia begged. Leeja opened her mouth to respond as she looked at Thancred. “No, Minfilia. You'll only get underfoot. Now, come.” Leeja frowned. “It’s fine, I’ll be alright on my own. Wouldn’t be the first time” Leeja reassured Minfilia. They split up and Leeja made her way to Lyhe Ghiah.

As she stood outside the doors, she heard the faint, shimmering sound of a lock breaking. “The gate has recognized that you bear all four relics. The seal is broken.” Feo Ul’s voice came from behind her. She turned slightly to see them. “Aye, I won’t lie, I’m nervous. In Lakeland, I had my friends with me. Now, they’re fighting to give me the time I need to fight the king.” She admitted. “It is sure to be a ferocious battle. But if anyone can bring an end to our king's torment, it is you. Yet know this, my adorable sapling: though we fae folk may appear to live unfettered lives, there are still laws that bind us. To take back as much as is taken. To create as much as is destroyed. To give as much as is received. In all things, balance must be preserved...and the same will be asked of you. But worry not. Come what may, your beautiful branch will ever be at your side.” Feo managed to make Leeja feel calmer.  “Thank you, Feo. I think I can do this now” she said. Feo smiled and vanished as she pushed the doors open. She pulled out her gunbreaker stone and attuned to it, wanting to have the extra protection with the better gear. 

As Leeja entered the castle, the fae king descended from the upper floors to meet her in the middle. Leeja was stunned for a moment as she took in Titania’s look. She was beautiful. A Lightwarden, sure, but beautiful. Leeja swallowed hard and pulled Hyperion free from her back. With a deep breath, she began the fight. She braced herself for some of the heavier attacks – using Rampart, Nebula, Camouflage. She used Aurora to regenerate the wounds from the hits and used her aether-filled cartridges to get off some of her stronger attacks. Gnashing Fang, Savage Claw, Wicked Talon. Titania made the surroundings look like the outside, trees all over, grass on the ground and they summon three treants. Leeja fought all of them. She defeated the smaller versions and Titania re-summoned them in larger forms, their leaves shrouding the ground and putting it into shadow. Once again, Leeja defeated them.  Titania had summoned her power and as they went to cast their spell, Leeja quickly used Gunmetal Soul in order to protect herself further. The end of the fight came quickly, and when it did, the Light that corrupted Titania made its way toward Leeja, allowing her to absorb it. 

Feo Ul had watched with worry but chose not to say anything. “You have freed our fallen king. Not that I expected any less, my [adorable sapling]” they said happily, watching Leeja pant softly from feeling worn out.  “Aye, you were right. They did not hold back” Leeja sat on the ground for a moment as Feo Ul floated in front of her. “The dress, the crown, the scepter, the shoes─the time has come for these relics to serve their true purpose.” Feo Ul explained what the relics were for and Leeja swallowed hard. She had no idea it would mean she would become the new king. “O-Oh… I didn’t know that…” “My adorable sapling. My precious mortal. We fae folk live forever, but such is not your virtue. To strive for a dream you will never see─to sow seeds that others might one day taste the fruits of your garden─that is the beauty of your kind. Burn bright and shine as only you can. These blessings, your lovely branch will accept in your stead.” “Wait, you’ll become the new king in my stead?” She asked, standing up. Feo Ul nodded with a smile. As they floated in the air, the relics hovered before a bright, white flash of light happened.

Feo Ul had gone from being a small pixie, to a large one with beautiful orange wings, a long purple and pink dress and a flower staff. They were beautiful, and they were now the new king. They held out their hand for Leeja. “Now, shall we attend to those unwise enough to trespass in our realm?” Leeja grinned and nodded. “Let’s go make them regret coming here.” Feo Ul summoned the other fae folk to assist them in chasing away the Eulmorans. Leeja climbed on the back of one of the amaro, to be delivered to her friends, and to watch the madness from above.

From above, they watched the fae folk tormenting the Eulmorans. Leeja couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her. “Much deserved vengeance, I feel.” As the last of the soldiers – and Ran’jit – fled, the amaro, Leeja and Titania descended from the sky, setting Leeja down carefully. She told them everything that happened – from entering the castle, to Feo Ul taking on the title of king instead of her.  “We are grateful for your timely aid, Feo Ul─or should I say, Your Majesty.” Alphinaud looked at them. “Twas the first night in recent memory. We all of us but wished to make the most of it. That's something you must remember about us fae folk. Though our existence may be eternal, we exist only for the present.”  “That’s… Something to remember, I feel. Existing for the here and now” Leeja smiled and looked up at the king.  “To wit, we are not driven as men are. We cannot fight for such causes as men do.” They made it clear. Leeja hummed softly for a moment. They couldn’t rely on the fae folk to assist, but then again, she wasn’t expecting them to outside of of Il Mheg.  “Does that mean you won't aid us against the sin eaters?” Minfilia asked. “Not unless the mood takes us. But if it was to repay a debt? Well then, that's another matter. To take back as much as is taken. To create as much as is destroyed. To give as much as is received. Such is the way of Il Mheg.” They reaffirmed. Leeja knew this, and now so did the rest of the Scions. “By this law, we shall lend you our strength─in return for the beautiful sky you have restored to us. In times of need, do not hesitate to call.” Leeja chuckled softly. “I’ll make sure to call for you most earnestly. But, what about our pact? Does it change now that you’re king?” She looked up at them. Feo Ul just laughed.  “Silly sapling! I shall remain at your side. Even should my body be in the castle, 'tis a simple thing to have a little part of me accompany you.”  “I look forward to many more adventures with you then, your Majesty. However, I believe it’s time we gather our things and return to the Crystarium. I could do with some much needed sleep” Leeja stretched and yawned. 

After bidding goodbye to the fae folk, the group made their way back toward the Crystarium. The walk was quiet, all of them tired and in need of rest themselves. Alisaie noticed the large gap between Leeja and Thancred, and raised an eyebrow at Leeja. She grabbed her arm gently and pulled her back as everyone else continued onward. “Is everything alright?” She asked quietly. Leeja nodded and raised an eyebrow at her. “Yes? Why do you ask?”  “Hm. I was just wondering, is all. Never mind” Alisaie walked on briskly ahead, and Leeja just stood, sighing softly before she continued onward. She didn’t catch up with the rest of the party, she took her time returning. It began to rain. No warning before hand, it just rained heavily. Leeja stopped walking and turned her face up to the sky, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly and happily as the rain felt nice and cool on her skin. When she felt better, she began the last part of the walk and headed through the gates of the city. She was unaware of Alisaie waiting for her as she walked past. “Leeja?” “Mm?” She stopped and looked at her. “You’ll get sick if you stay out here. Go and get changed and get warm” she urged to the red mage. “Well I can say the same to you. Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quieter than usual.” Leeja gave her a brief nod. “Everything is fine. Promise. Now, let’s go and get warm alright?” Alisaie huffed and nodded. The pair headed toward the Pendants and toward their respective apartments to rest,  They could make their reports tomorrow.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #leeja fythe #my writing #feo ul #thancred waters #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud leveilleur #urianger augurelt #ffxiv ryne #titania

[catte-bard]

FFXIV Write 2021 #13: Oneirophrenia

Urianger in his few months of knowing the pixies felt there were two very important facts about them. They were rather friendly, little creatures. And they were mischievous little devils. Fond of mayhem they were always trying to find little tricks to play on visitors to Il Mheg.

And Urianger was their favourite playmate. The mysterious elf who spoke with a funny voice and who had taken up residence in one the old mortal dwellings. He absolutely delighted them. Mortals never stayed in Il Mheg; they feared the fey and usually tried to pass through quickly when traveling its roads.

Today he had been making notes of the different kinds of flora that bloomed the land. Making quick sketches—though his hand wasn’t as talented as young Master Alphinaud’s—as well as jotting notes down about them.

Fascinating, it was all incredibly fascinating. He had theorized that Il Mheg must be somewhere geographically where Ishgard is on the Source. And yet it  possessed a completely different clime. 

He had been studying the plant life, curious to see if there were any similarities to those on his home shard. However, much of the flora seemed to have evolved in its own way separate from those on the Source. Which he supposed would make sense. The First’s history had been carved out in a different path from the Source. It had experienced its own eras, its own disasters, tragedies, and other impactful events. And so the flora and fauna and even the landscape itself would’ve adapted differently. 

“Urianger!” A chipper voice suddenly popped into existence. 

“Good morning to thee, Kenn Beq.” Urianger hummed as he scribbled something down in his journal about the tree he was resting under.

“What are you doing this time?” Kenn Beq asked, flitting close to look over his shoulder. “Oh what pretty pictures! Uri likes flowers! Lemme see! Lemme see! Don’t be shy now!”

And with a flick of their wrist, Urianger’s journal was suddenly lifted out of his hands and into the air. The Archon let out a noise of protest. It seemed the pixies were in a mischievous mood today.

 “Kenn Beq.” Urianger fiercely said as if reprimanding a child. “Return that at once.”

They merely giggled at him and leafed through the pages. “Oh calm yourself. I only want to look. Oooh, Uri seems to be a scholar as well. Kenn Sul, come look!” They then called and another pixie popped forth.

Kenn Sul and Kenn Beq were perhaps the equivalent of twins in the world of mortals. The other pixies explained that the pair had been “born” together. And thus the two of them together were the source of much mayhem.

In truth, Urianger always found them rather endearing. Perhaps, reminded of another set of twins he knew well; and thus tolerated their presence. However, today he was in no mood to entertain these two.

“Oooh, how pretty!” Kenn Sul fawned. “You should have told us you liked flowers, Uri.”

He sighed. “Aye, I wish to learn more about thou’s land. And I’ve found the best way to learn about one’s surroundings is to observe the plant life. Now if you would be so kind.” And he stretched out his hand, waiting for his book to be returned to him.

The twins shared a look. And he did not like the smirks on their faces. The pixies were like children, he’d decided—very naughty children. Always scheming something wicked.

“Oh fine.” Kenn Beq agreed and sent the book floating back down to him. 

“Uri, if you like flowers we can lead you to some very special ones!” Kenn Sul then said. “Ones that aren’t in your pretty book yet!”

Kenn Beq clapped their hands together in excitement. “Yes, yes! Oh I love those! I would love to see them in your book!”

Urianger eyed them warily. Wisely wondering if the two were up to any tricks. One had to be careful when trusting a pixie. Sometimes they were honest creatures and sometimes they would lead you straight into the jaws of a hungry draco. 

And these two were no exception. Nay they were much worse!

“I am too busy for games, my friends.” He shook his head. “Mayhaps another time.”

And Kenn Sul made a stomping motion in the air, crossing their arms. “But it is no game. We mean it!”

“Yes!” Kenn Beq added. “There is a flower patch on the far end of Il Mheg that we know you want to...to sturdy? No that’s not the right word for it? Um Kenn Sul, what was it scholars like Uri did again?”

“I believe it was study.” Their twin offered. “Oh you were quite close!”

Kenn Beq did a twirl in the air at the praise before turning their attention back to Urianger. “Come, come! We’ll show you. And if it’s a rotten trick of ours then you’re free to cuff Kenn Sul across the head a few times as punishment.”

And with that Kenn Beq flitted off.

“H-hey!” Their sibling called after them as they followed. “Why do I have to take the brunt of the blame?!”

Urianger sighed; he could just stay here and return to his studies. Perhaps even return to the Bookman’s Shelves for a lunch. But he felt the twins would take offense to that. They would come pester him until he agreed to come with them on their little adventure. And if not that, they certainly would find a cruel trick to play on him.

And so against his better judgement, he tucked his journal under his arm and followed the tittering fey.

“See Uri!” Kenn Sul proudly announced when they had arrived at their destination. 

The pixies flew excited circles around him, pointing at a cluster of shrubs with bright purple flowers blooming on them. Indeed he had never seen these flowers on his travels before. And drew closer out of curiosity. Upon closer inspection he found the flowers’ petals were also speckled with yellow like little freckles. And the flowers themselves were about the size of his entire hand.

“How fascinating.” The Archon hummed and opened his journal to take notes. “And what are these called?”

Kenn Beq came flitting up to rest upon his shoulder. “The mortals that lived here long ago had a name for them—I don’t remember what it was though. We pixies however call them Dreaming-While-Awakes.”

An odd name. He’d have to poor through the tomes at his home to see if he could discover its proper one.

“Are they poisonous? Or dangerous at all?” Urianger tilted his head. He knew many flowers were deceptively beautiful and here and the land of fey one could never be too careful. Just the other day a pixie had warned him to stay away from a cotton-like plant that was said to sting like nettles despite its soft appearance. 

“No.” Kenn Beq said, casually swaying their legs. “We’ve never seen it harm mortals before.”

He nodded and assuming Kenn Beq’s knowledge could be trusted, he made note of the observation in his journal. And out of curiosity reach out to touch one of the soft looking petals. 

The moment his finger brushed against the petal the flower shuddered and sprayed out a cloud of what he assumed to be some kind of mist or pollen. And then it closed up at once, curling itself into a tight little bud.

Urianger startled, coughing and hacking on the strange concoction it had assaulted him with. The smell was absolutely horrendous, it burned his throat and made his eyes water.

Faintly he could hear the twins laughing at him. Accursed little imps! He should have known better! However, before he could berate them for their trickery, they quickly flew off.

Whatever ailed him seemed to finally dissipate after a few agonizing minutes, though Urianger still suffered from its effects. Do not rub your eyes. It could spread the irritant and damage sight. His studies reminded him. And so he kept his hands away from his face.

It took a moment, but the burning seemed to abate to a more tolerable level. He paused for a moment, doing a mental well-being check. He didn’t seem ill or in any pain—the only thing plaguing him were eyes and a slight headache. But otherwise he didn’t seem to be in any danger.

It seemed Kenn Beq had not lied in that regard. The spray probably was some sort of defense mechanism for the plant. To keep itself from being eaten. He made a note of this within his journal before turning to head home.  

During the walk back he did not encounter Kenn Beq or Kenn Sul again. The pair of them smartly staying away from him while his anger was still hot. On the morrow they’d probably come bearing gifts of apology, usually polished stones from the river that they thought were pretty. 

And so his walk had gone undisturbed. However, about halfway he had to pause. The throbbing in his head had grown steadily worse. Going from a dull ache to a full on piercing pain. A side effect from the flower?

He groaned, clutching at his head with a hand. He winced at the sun beating down on him. was it always so bright? It made him feel nauseated under its beating warmth. Had that flower been poisonous? 

Gods, above he felt so dizzy—the world was spinning and— 

“You alright love?”

 A voice snapped him from whatever was ailing him. 

“You’re not looking too good. What tried to drink Thancred under the table? Though I have to say that’s not a very hard feat to accomplish.”

That voice…

His head still ached and he had to squint through the bright sunlight at the figure before him. It couldn’t be and yet...it sounded like her. It...it looked like her.

He could feel himself trembling as his lips parted to form her name. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Yet there she stood grinning at him, hands propped on her hips. “Come on then, up you go.” She insisted. “We need to get back home;?don’t want to be out here in the dark, do you?”

Finally. Finally he had the strength to form her name on his tongue. “Moenbryda?” He whispered incredulously.

She cocked her head. “Were you expecting someone else?” 

Once again he was left speechless. How? How was this possible? This had to be a trick! Some cruel, cruel trick done by the pixies. He felt angry. He felt sorrow he thought he buried welling up within him again.

Abruptly, Moenbyrda’s smile fell and was replaced by an expression of concern. “Are you alright, love?” She asked moving forward to cup his face between her hands. And Urianger was surprised to find her touch warm. So real.

“How…” Urianger managed to find his voice. And he could feel tears misting in his eyes. “How are you here?”

Moenbryda seemed surprised and even offended at that. “Urianger...I’ve always been with you. Don’t you remember?” A frown furrowed her brow as she placed the back of her hand against his forehead. “Hmph, that flower must’ve done a number on you, eh? You’re positively burning up. Come on, let’s go back home and prep some tea. That always makes you feel better.”

“But…” Urianger began to protest. 

“Hush my dear.” Moenbryda told him and patted him on the cheek. “It’s all going to be okay. You just need to rest.”

Something in her words seemed to soothe him. The emotions rattling within him stilled. And suddenly he felt so tired.

“Right...right.” He murmured, feeling dazed and let her lead him back home. 

This felt strange. Like it shouldn’t be happening. And yet...her hands had felt so real against his cheeks. Her fingers felt so real as they entwined with his. And her voice, her sweet voice—he could never mistake it. It was her.

And yet it couldn’t be. Back and forth his mind warred like that. Illogical and logical fighting to dominate his mind which right now felt as if a fog had settled over it. 

 It didn’t feel right but Moen had promised all was well. And well...he trusted her.

They had made it to the Rising Stones.

 Wait...that’s not right. Is it?

He couldn’t ponder on it much longer before Moenbryda dragged him inside. She had settled down at a table and quickly shooed him away, insisting that he start a kettle for them.

“And why am I making the tea when it was thee whom suggested it?” Urianger had asked.

And Moenbryda grinned that wonderful smile of hers. Wry and filled with mischief. “Because you need something to occupy your mind, silly thing. You’ve walked the whole way here with a blank look on your face like your head was suddenly empty.” She teased. “You need something to do to get that brain of yours working again.”

He merely shook his head and wandered over to the stove to prepare the tea. Cheeky. She was always so cheeky. And that was one of the things he loved most about her.

The thought tugged at something at the back of his mind. And the dizzy spell that had ailed him earlier had suddenly returned. The elezen had to lean against the nearby wall for a moment to get his bearings. Why was he feeling so nauseous all of a sudden?

“Is everything alright, Urianger?” he heard Moenbryda call out to him. “You haven’t been acting well since that incident with that flower. Funny thing must be messing with your head.”

“Yes...the flower.” He murmured and clutched at his head. Something about that was making his head throb again. What had Kenn Beq called it? Something wasn’t right.  “The Rising Stones. How...did we get here? We were just in Il Mheg.”

“We walked here, obviously. Are you feeling okay?”

No. Not at all. Something...something wasn’t right.

“I am fine.” Urianger reassured, shaking his head to clear it. And with trembling hands he turned his attention back to his task. Right...he needed to put the kettle on to warm the water— 

Two cups of tea sat before him. Warm and with steam rising up from them. How? Had he already brewed it and just wasn’t paying attention?

“Uri!” Moenbryda called impatiently. “Are you going to hog it all for yourself?”

He pushed down the nauseated feeling rising within him and turned to carry the cups to his waiting companion. This was nice. How long had it been since the two of them enjoyed a nice tea and chat together? 

Again the tugging at his mind came. The flower. Il Mheg. Sitting here in the Rising Stones didn’t seem to fit with it. His sluggish mind swept it away. Focus on tea with Moen not that.

The two of them chatted pleasantly. Reminiscing  in old memories and recounting stories of their time after graduating the Studium. It was a pleasant time and Urianger felt he had not had genuine laughter in so long. 

He couldn’t help but to feel he was forgetting something though. Something that kept nagging at the back of his mind. It had been tugging on him ever since meeting Moenbryda again.

There was something about her. Something about this day. This very moment. And every time he tried to focus on it he was left feeling dizzy.

“Mm you always made the finest tea, Urianger.” Moenbryda praised as she took a long sip. Knocking it back as if it were a tankard of ale. “Always could taste the care you put into it.”

“Preparing tea is an art.” Urianger replied as he took his own sip. Puzzlement welled up within him. His tasted so plain. Had he put enough herbs in it? “Master Loiusoix taught me that important lesson. “

Moenbryda hummed. “You were always his favourite.”

He set his foul tea aside, no longer having the taste for it. “Do not pretend that he never had a fondness for thee.”

She merely shrugged at that and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you miss him?”

The question seemed out of nowhere and surprised Urianger. He scowled and looked down at his lap. “Aye.” He admitted. “Every day, I long for his wisdom and his guidance. For there are some days where I oft wonder if I am taking the right steps. And if I am taking them down the right path.”

Moenbryda hummed thoughtfully. “And me? Do you miss me?”

That question was odd that it made him jerk his head up to see...her fading. 

“Moen?” He whispered in worry.

She was fading. Fading away again.

Something...something was wrong. He felt hot all over and that piercing pain in his head from earlier had returned.

“Moen…” Urianger reached out to grasp her hands. “Moenbryda, what is wrong?!” Desperation made his voice hoarse.

And his dear friend  stared at him sadly. And yet she smiled. “Ah told you that silly flower was messing with your head.”

The flower? Yes...yes he remembered now. The fog was slowly lifting and his head was clearer.

Kenn Beq had called something peculiar…Dreaming-While-Awake.

“This isn’t real.” He admitted to himself.

“No.” Moenbryda beamed. “But at least it was nice while it lasted.”

He stared at her sadly and when to grab her hand this time his fingers brushed through it. He closed his eyes with a grimace. Of course, he should’ve known better. Known that such a perfect moment could only exist within the confines of his mind.

“Oh don’t be sad, dear.” Moenbryda consoled. “I told you before, I’ve always been with you.”

“Yes…” He agreed, closing his hand into a fist and looking down at the table. “But only within mine dreams.”

“And within your heart.” She told him. 

“And within mine heart.” He repeated solemnly. “I suppose it does answer thine question though. ” He murmured, looking up at the empty air where she’d once been. “I do miss thee terribly.”

When he came out of the strange vision, Urianger found himself lying in a field. Likely somewhere in between where the flowers had been and the Bookman’s Shelves. He hadn’t seemed to travel far in his stupor.

He groaned, wincing at the piercing pain in his skull. Now seeming a thousand times worse with him being awake. He awoke feeling sweaty and hot. And when  he tried to stand he instantly regretted it, forced back to his knees as he retched up the contents of his stomach. 

Twelve, allow me strength to make it back home.

This would be the last time he trusted the fey on botanistic excursions.

Journal Entry No. 63

Dreamer’s Neem (the the pixies seem to dub it Dreaming-While-Awake)

A beautiful looking flower that grows to about the size of a grown Elezen male’s hand. A light shade of purple and dappled with yellow freckles it seems to grow on shrubs in isolated patches around Il Mheg. 

As a defense mechanism against creatures that would try to prey upon it, the plant sprays the aggressor with an agitating powder before closing in on itself. It should be noted that this powder contains a very potent hallucinogenic agent that causes truly powerful visions that seem to affect all the senses.

The former human inhabitants seemed to have used the flower for recreational purposes. Similar to the use of milkweed on the Source. It should be noted however, that while the plant may not be deadly it is best to avoid it. The effects of its defensive powder could prove to be overwhelming to individuals not familiar with the plant.

It should also be well noted that an individual exposed should be given cool water and broth for the rest of the day. The after effects of the hallucinations may leave them weak of stomach. And solid foods could agitate their condition.

Have care for thee whom wouldst seek out this plant. For the vision it offers may not always be pleasant. Speaking from mine own experience it was rather tame. Though other accounts I hath read indicate more nightmarish experiences. How lucky I was in mine own…

#ffxivwrite2021 #final fantasy xiv #Urianger Augurelt #writing

[nadana-vhet]

Hot Chocolate

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

Pairing: WoL x Haurchefant Greystone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she vowed to help Francel, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#ffxiv #haurchefant greystone #wol x haurchefant #miqo'te wol #ahmi vhelo #faeluria writes #haurchefant simps asap #are we surprised? #absolutely not

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Movement: Zartheit

Time Frame: Some point after Shadowbringers. No Spoilers.

Notes: Not precisely canon compliant because who can say what happens after current content? I also take liberties with Bard abilities because they are so loosely defined in lore. One day we’ll have some pieces to expand on Alvaar’s bardic quirks, but times are tough so have some fluff.

Cross posted to AO3

 -

Alphinaud had long learned to stop questioning the extent of domestic knowledge the Warrior of Light seemed to possess, but you couldn’t especially blame him if he found ‘novice hairdresser’ a surprising addition to the list.

 -

  “You really need a trim.”

Looking up from his tome, Alphinaud looked back over his shoulder to fix the Bard with a raised brow. He didn’t say anything, but the silent glower made it apparent his thoughts were elsewhere.

Putting his hands up in the symbol of ‘no offense’ for a moment, Alvaar stepped closer and held his hands up with open palms. “If I may?”

Sighing and returning to his research he finished scribbling a few notes. “If you must,” the Scholar replied noncommittally, mind still fixated on his most recent arcane discovery and how it might apply to his own abilities.

“Then I must,” Alvaar replied, carefully smoothing white strands down before delicately removing the hair tie and metal ornament that held the Elezen’s long hair back and setting them aside. Gently freeing long snowy locks and combing his fingers through to loose any snarls.

“You’ve been busy of late,” Alvaar commented simply.

“As have you,” Alphinaud returned placidly, frowning slightly given the Bard was preoccupied and wouldn’t notice. He wasn’t going to say it but the absence had been... quite noticeable. Still, they both had their duties and it wouldn’t do to treat the Bard so dismissively when he was freshly returned from a mission.

Glancing up at the white fringe of hair obstructing his view, he sighed faintly. “I suppose I, may be more in need of an appointment than I’d thought. But Scion work does ever come in droves,” he continued.

“Indeed. ... I didn’t mean any offense Alphinaud, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you this unkempt.” Pausing with a snort of laughter at the reflexive tensing of slim shoulders, Alvaar patted his arm. “Your bangs have gotten too long, and your braid isn’t lying sleek. You know I’m a fop at heart I just have an eye for this.”

“Well not all of us are so privileged as to have an aesthetician on call,” Alphinaud shot back with notable cheek.

“If you knew what I had to put up with to keep that man equipped in scissors and glitter every time he misplaced them you would think I got the short end of the stick. If I have Jandelaine on call, then he’s got a Warrior of Light as a personal errand boy for every lost implement disaster. Not that anyone else might know such privileges right Alphinaud?” Alvaar mocked sweetly. “Now shut it and tilt your chin up, I need to see how bad this is.”

Huffing and dropping a blank sheet of parchment in his book he snapped it shut loudly and offered a smirk when he complied.

Predictably, the Bard hissed out a laugh and smoothed his hair down to inspect the length. “Little shit.”

“If I have learned anything of being a particular thorn in others sides it must have been from you, dear friend.” Even so there was only amusement in the words.

It was the sort of barbs and banter he’d been missing with Alvaar and Alisaie both on a long expedition for Urianger. For while he certainly got along well with his fellow Scions, there was a natural sort of ease to the taunts thrown back and forth with his sister and, once the Bard became more talkative, Alvaar as well.

The man in question just offered his own faint smile of amusement before amethyst eyes were studying his face intently for things Alphinaud couldn’t begin to understand. In fact, he opted to just shut his eyes and wait patiently through the inspection lest he get caught up staring into that jewel toned gaze longer than was appropriate. It wasn’t enough that he’d been dealing with people insinuating an ever-growing crush on the Bard for the last few years, he didn’t need to be teased about it by the man himself too.

Even if it was true...

“Do you want me to trim it for you? If you want a style change, I’d recommend an appointment but I can at least clean up the split ends and I know your hairstyle probably better than your own hairdresser. Up for it? I’ll even let you keep reading.”

“You know how to cut hair too?” Alphinaud asked with minimal surprise. At this point, Alvaar could say he had experience in about any profession and he’d likely believe him.

Another amused snort. “Anyone can cut hair... it takes study to be able to style it and not butcher it. But yes, I know enough to do all the touch ups in my Free Company. And if I should somehow manage to offend, I’ll pay for Jandelaine to fix it myself. Now please, I beg you. Let me trim it. Unless you’re dedicating to a longer style I don’t think I can tolerate this mop nearly as well as you can.”

“It’s not that bad...”

“..... Technically no, you’re still better styled than the bulk of adventurers I travel with but... this is weird for me so let me fix it. Alphinaud Leveilleur I beg of you, gift unto me the privilege of saving you from the pox that is untamed growth of one’s own hair. For King and Country I won’t rest until I’ve slain that which offends mine senses.”

“Oh just shut up and do it Aldaviir. You’ll just hound me until I let you anyway,” Alphinaud shot back, pausing and flushing faintly at the flow of words he’d most definitely picked up from the Bard.

“Ahh,” Alvaar sighed, a blissful smile in his words, and the rustle of fabric as he put a hand to his heart. “As my Prince doth proclaim, so must I attend.”

“You’re an insufferable Bard when you’ve been reading romance novels, you know that?”

A long pause.

“I don’t deserve these call outs Leveilleur.”

A faint click caught his attention and he opened his eyes to regard the Bard. Seeing how prepared and serious Alvaar was as he started summoning and laying out tools, Alphinaud took one look at the spray bottle that was set down and quickly cleared his research off the table. Let him read... ha.

“If you’re that serious I’ll just go take a bath Alvaar. It’ll be easier.”

Pausing, the blond tapped a fine-tooth comb to his jaw in thought. “True. I should probably join you. Much as I love them, the smell of chocobos tends to cling...”

“In that case after you! Long travels are terrible and my hair isn’t going anywhere. I’ll just clean up in my room,” he chirped, quickly up on his feet and actually pushing the Bard towards the door.

“Wh- hey what the...” Alvar griped but let himself be shoved out the door by the shorter Elezen regardless.

“Go forth, take your time, I’ll be in my quarters when you’re ready.” Shutting the door behind the Bard, Alphinaud turned to lean his back against it and sigh. Not his most subtle of misdirects but in the panic it was all that he had.

“You realize you could just ask to use the bath after me if you’re that sensitive to modesty...” Alvaar reminded him from the other side of the door.

Oh. Damnit.

“Nerd.”

-

For as much as he’d fidgeted and worried about further teasing, Alvaar had done the Scholar the courtesy of leaving it at that. In fact, he’d almost forgotten about any potential embarrassment until he opened the door to his room and found Alvaar sitting at his desk, studying the desktop carbuncle calendar Alisaie had bought him as a gift.

But then the Bard rose up to his slippered feet smoothly, dressed in a well-tailored green tunic nipped close at the waist and gray khakis that accented his tall physique, and one embarrassment was probably just going to be replaced with another. In common clothes Alvaar didn’t look anything like what people pictured as the Warrior of Light, but it certainly did even less to hide that effeminately handsome face of his when he wasn’t wearing his hat. Framed with still damp green accented blond, once again cut and feathered to a medium length that complimented him well, he could start to see why people had a hard time recognizing him in his craft clothes. In his battle gear there was something unaffected and inspiring to him, a remote calm and surety that made even enemies give pause.

Dressed in his house clothes however Alvaar was just... normal. Still handsome and graceful but far less intimidating. He was approachable... touchable even...

If Alphinaud hadn’t spent the bulk of the last three years with Alvaar during the brunt of his ‘bisexual awakening,’ he probably wouldn’t be able to handle it. Instead he just steeled his nerve and tried to resume his thoughts on his research. What sort of adjustments would need to be made to the arcane geometries of his moonstone carbuncle summon to make it more efficient with aetheric flow and-

“Park it Leveilleur. You can think about your nerd shit while I’m working,” Alvaar huffed with a knowing look and bless him but the return to normal sass made it easier to handle.

Taking the offered seat he lifted his chin proudly, letting Alvaar tuck a sheet around him for cover before the Bard started into his task. Easing his fingers through damp strands he plucked a comb off the table and set to straightening with patient care.

“Well if you had any interest in being an Arcanist then perhaps I’d talk about it instead,” he remarked lightly, already knowing how this would go and taking comfort in the familiarity.

“Aetheric Magic isn’t my thing. I pull enough miracles out of my arse as a Bard as is, I don’t need the effort of more expectations of miracles scholars can filtch. I turn a volcano into a temperate climate and clear a blizzard for a small contingent of warriors with the power of song alone and no, you sots just want a different colored carbuncle. Fuck that I’ll leave the discoveries to you and pick up spare change playing requests on harp in bars.”

Okay, maybe not so familiar...

“Difficult trip?” he asked lightly.

“Just annoying. Not much for discovery and an endurance trial on my patience. If Alisaie hadn’t been around I’d hazard it would have been downright dull.”

“Is that so? I had been led to believe it involved Allagan technology,” he continued, leaving the statement hanging and waiting for the Bard to take the bait.

An annoyed huff answered it. “Nothing new. Allagan cruelty knows no bounds it seems. Heartless bastards, I’m glad they’re all dead. I don’t see much purpose to arcane advancement when it comes at a cost of feeling and reason,” Alvaar griped bitterly.

Tipping his chin up so he could meet the Bards gaze he studied him a moment. “Your statements are fair. Still, thank you for going anyway. I felt much better for my sister’s safety knowing you were along.”

Staring back a moment, Alvaar sighed slowly, tension finally easing out of his shoulders and running the comb through his bangs.

“As if she needs the help... your sister is a hellcoeurl when you get her going. Now stay still. If you move like that when I’ve got my scissors I’m liable to snip an ear off and then I’ll be obligated to dock the other one for balance,” Alvaar remarked flatly before giving a slight grin at the faintly horrified look on his friends face. Fingers lightly gripping the Scholars jaw he centered his head and grabbed his scissors.

Holding still, Alphinaud shut his eyes again and let Alvaar work, the soft hiss of scissors working away as gentle fingers slipped through his hair. It was... nice. He’d thought it might be a bit more awkward but there was something soothing about the attention and touch.

He was roused a bit by a thumb trailing under his eye once the Bard had finished trimming his bangs back to their standard length. Blinking his eyes open cautiously he raised a brow at Alvaar’s assessing stare.

“You’re working too hard again. You need to be careful with that or-”

“Or I’ll end up possessed by an Ascian. Yes, I recall. You fret like a maid Alvaar,” he interjected calmly, using the old phrase that had caused him no end of grief once and now was some old inside joke between them.

Something in the Bards gaze softened at the words, rising back up to his towering height and pacing back around to start cleaning up any split ends on the long whip of white hair he’d yet to fuss with. Setting his scissors aside he again set to untangling silken strands, tutting under his breath.

“Someone has to or your sister would have an absolute fit. I would rather not invoke her wrath over something so preventable. ... going to need to trim this back an inch, that alright?”

“Whatever you think is best, I trust you,” he replied automatically, probably a bit more heartfelt than was necessary but... no less true.

Again, a change of implements and the sharp rasp of scissors snipping away carefully. Focused and methodical and the Scholar almost found himself falling asleep but that mock threat kept him stubbornly upright and still. In fact, a small part of him was sad when Alvaar finally put comb and scissors away, brushing any loose trimmings free and reclaiming the sheet with a quick efficiency.

But it wouldn’t be polite of him to further monopolize Alvaar’s time so shortly after he’d returned. Even so, he didn’t rise from his seat, instead sinking a bit farther in and tipping his chin up so he could let his hair hang off the back of the chair to dry a bit more.

“Much better,” Alvaar hummed as he finished cleaning up, tossing the swept-up clippings and pausing as he turned to regard his friend and ally. Studying him quietly a moment he stepped back over, nearly startling the Scholar as his fingers slipped back into white hair.

“Tataru says you haven’t been sleeping,” Alvaar commented stoically, combing through his hair with his hands this time and letting it slide through his fingers.

Well, that was the double-edged sword of being good friends with a gossip...

“There’s been,” he paused, dragging in a deep breath as he pondered it, “much to do my friend. Where the summoning of Primals may slow, other problems take their place. Many have come seeking aid from the Scions of late and as the de facto leader, it’s been on me to meet with them all. I’ve made what arrangements I could but, as you know it is nearly impossible to help everyone...” the Scholar trailed off with a sigh.

He gave a faint start as Alvaar slid fingers up along his jaw, gently encouraging him upright with a soft, “Straighten up. Relax.”

“Alvaar?” the Scholar asked, a note of genuine concern mixed in his puzzled tone.

“Hush.” Soothing his palms out along Alphinaud’s neck the Bard set into a massage, humming something softly under his breath and hands warming up noticeably. A casual display of the potency of his skill in Bardsong that would have startled if Alphinaud hadn’t seen such effortless works before. “What sleep you are getting isn’t very restful. You’ve too much tension in your neck,” Alvaar chided grumpily even as his fingers worked their magic with gentle care. “You need to take better care of yourself Leveilleur.”

Perhaps. But a small part of him would miss the attention if he didn’t give the Bard something to fuss over. He also suspected (and maybe hoped) that on some level Alvaar needed such things too regardless of what he said. If he didn’t, then his mother hen attitude wouldn’t have him fussing over almost anyone given half a chance.

Alvaar certainly seemed at his most relaxed when he had mundane things to worry about, though given how many world scale problems were thrust on him it could have just been a product of perspective. Fussing over someone’s appearance and fixing it was a far cry from smiting world evils after all.

But to say any of that would probably be too much so Alphinaud elected to say nothing at all. He merely settled a bit firmer into those hands and soaked in the comfort of another person’s touch.

Bit by bit his thoughts quieted, worries and concerns falling away now that Alvaar and Alisaie were back safe and sound. Things would quickly return to the routine he preferred and found the most comfort in.

And his Warrior of Light was back home. Here at his side once more, stalwart companion to the bitter end. Focused on him and giving off that familiar feeling of safety and support he’d come to depend on through the years.

He didn’t doubt that tomorrow he’d look back over those petitions for aid and be able to find new solutions. If Alvaar could make doing the impossible seem effortless, then he could do no less in the matters he was suited for. He could only ever rise to meet that challenge. Pull together various resources and people to find a solution that they could follow-

Thumbs hooked over the back of his ears, work-worn hands covering them and in the wake of the last few weeks of constant meetings and stress the abrupt narrowed silence was disorienting. Even as his feet shifted on reflex for balance, he was already unconsciously reaching for Alvaar’s hands.

The movement had the Bard starting to shift away, a half-formed apology on his tongue before Alphinaud pulled him back. Slender fingers gripped against Alvaar’s hands and held them back in place, leaning into the contact without saying a word.

He hadn’t ever been one for silence in a world with so much that needed to be said. But that brief listless moment had pointed him towards something he’d forgotten that he needed. A brief reprieve held safely in the hands of someone he trusted, though it was not generally so literal...

It was the same sort of soulful quiet he often found with his twin. The comfortable air of safe silence that tended to have them both asleep leaned against one another. The reassurance of knowing you weren’t alone and whatever happened someone would be there with you to face whatever you awoke to.

But here...? After so long he found that here? Whose heart was he hearing beat a staccato then, his or Alvaar’s? Snapping out of it he let go, quickly leaning forward to break the contact.

“My apologies,” he murmured hastily. “I... it’s been a difficult time these last weeks. You likely have much to attend to given you just returned. I believe your retainers have also been checking in regularly the last few days so they must be-”

“Shut it Leveilleur,” Alvaar snarked flatly, making the Scholar jump a bit at the tone. “I’m not done. Besides, there’s another summit in two days isn’t there? I’m not showing up with the Leader of the Scions sporting unkempt hair and bags under his eyes. If we’re going to have to sit at the same table as those backstabbing little heathens then we may as well look fucking fabulous while we do it. So, sit up, I’ve still got work to do given you’re still a damn mess.”

Looking over his shoulder at him, Alphinaud stared at Alvaar in stunned surprised.

Putting a hand at his hip and shifting his stance to one of cocky annoyance, Alvaar raised a brow. “You’ll make me look bad Alphinaud. I’ve got a reputation to uphold as the best-looking Warrior of Light Eorzea will ever know and I’m not letting you jeopardize it. Let’s go.” Holding his hand out a bottle dropped into it from the aether with a puff of smoke, tossing and flipping it nonchalantly. “Leave in conditioner doesn’t apply itself.”

A delayed snort of laughter escaped the Scion, quickly having to turn around to stuff his hands to his face to try and quiet it.

“.... What, you think fashion is funny?! It’s fucking suffering now quit laughing and get over here!” Alvaar bitched, swatting lightly at his friends’ shoulder but even without turning to see it the Scholar knew he was smiling. Especially when Alvaar finally started to laugh and then gave an unflattering snort, and that set the both of them off again.

“Thank you,” Alphinaud murmured softly, but no less heartfelt as the Bard massaged whatever floral scented cream into his hair once they’d both collected themselves.

“It’s fine. Just another part of my job as your personal errand boy,” Alvaar returned cheekily.

Lifting his chin with a frown the man couldn’t see Alphinaud huffed. “I mean it Alvaar. Thank you for helping me.”

The Elezen paused, studying the snowy strands threaded through his fingers a moment. “.... You’re welcome. But you’re not the only one who needed a reprieve Alphinaud. I like doing things like this. It’s... relaxing,” he answered, tone quiet and even. That sign that he felt he was revealing too much even with so little a detail.

It was as he’d expected then...

“Still,” he insisted anyway.

“... You know if you grew this all out and we feathered it for body you’d have some truly amazing hair,” Alvaar carried on with a subject change. “I think it would even put Aymeric to shame. Very dashing, like some storybook prince. Everyone would swoon.”

Shutting his eyes, the Scholar just smiled a touch wider and leaned the faintest bit further into that gentle touch. Did that mean Alvaar as well? “Maybe.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’m afraid my sister hoarded my half of it.”

“Tch. Blasted Leveilleurs. You need to learn to share.”

-

“Alphi?” Alvaar asked untold minutes later once he’d noticed the Scholar had been silent for some time.

The hands that had been working over his shoulders stopped, and though Alvaar called his name again Alphinaud didn’t want to respond. Perhaps it was a moment of selfishness but he vainly hoped that perhaps the Bard might stay for a bit more in this peaceful quiet. At least until he actually fell asleep...

A gentle hand ruffled his hair with another attempt at calling him though this time it was softer as the man shifted to see if he was awake or not. It took a bit to not smile under that scrutiny and give himself away but if he couldn’t manage at least that he would never have made it so far in politics. A haggard sigh left the Bard and then he shifted back behind him. Whatever he might have been hoping for hadn’t expected Alvaar to lean down and slip his arms about his shoulders, hugging him gently.

“What am I going to do with you... my friend you work yourself much too hard if you can fall asleep sitting up like that,” Alvaar whispered, squeezing him the faintest bit tighter and settling his cheek to satiny strands.

It was enough to make his heart skip a beat in panic.

It had been some time since Alvaar had last hugged him. While the Bard tended to come off as physically distant and stoic, at least at first; it was the furthest from the truth once he was comfortable with you. Really it was probably because Alvaar knew how embarrassed it made him. There had been a few times he’d caught Alvaar giving him a tight look of empathy, but he’d generally refrained from moving closer unless things were particularly dour.

It wasn’t that he disliked such things, but part of his pride hated to come off as weak. After all he had done for Shards and Source he didn’t think it much to ask that people stop treating him as a child because of his height. Where flustered pride would have him pull away, now he had no excuse but to stay. To feel that warmth and comfort folded around him and soak it in. A part of him almost wished to reach back. To bury himself against the Bards chest as he had a few times before and relish in that protective strength.

But that would be too much.

It was one thing to accept comfort in a moment of weakness. Wholly another to just ask for it because your closest friends had been away too long. A silly distinction perhaps, but then few had ever asked so much of a friend as he. From the time his youthful arrogance had callously brandished the Warrior of Light as one would a blade to now when invariably something would happen that only Alvaar could attend and he would have to summon him to battle once more.

It would be too much to place the burden of his loneliness on the man as well; especially when he knew Alvaar would likely do most anything he asked. Even if he didn’t genuinely want to… a thought that bothered him to no end.

Instead he would just accept what the Bard gave freely, as he did now silently soaking in this chance comfort. Letting his friend fuss over him because Alvaar also found relief in it. And he’d hold on to those favors one would need to ask of friends for when they needed them most.

A knock at the door startles them both, and though he’s upset to feel Alvaar quickly pull away it at least spares him the quandary of how he was going to slip out of that ruse without giving himself away. Instead he lifts his head after a moment to stare at the door with a falsified tired blink.

“Alphinaud are you in?” Alisaie calls, and he almost frowns but the relief to hear her voice again after so long gets the better of him.

“Yes, come in,” he answers. He glances at Alvaar as the Bard shakes out the sheet for a third time fussily before he busies himself with cleaning his scissors and comb, but he’s pointedly not looking at him.

Curious.

“Ah, there’s the pair of you. I had thought you would be off for that nap you kept complaining about Alvaar not hiding away in my brothers room,” Alisaie remarks as she lets herself in, an amused quirk to her lips that the Scholar isn’t quite sure he likes the look of and when they lock eyes he knows for a fact he doesn’t. He would be hearing about this later no doubt. Few enjoyed teasing him more than his sister.

“Well, I do like the peace and quiet,” Alvaar returns drily. “It beats the nonstop chattering of our contact… Besides, Alphi needed a trim and you know I can’t very well let enough alone once something has bothered me.” It gets a soft snort of amusement from her before she studies her twin expectantly and he pushes himself up to his feet.

“Welcome back. It’s good to see you Alisaie. I’ve heard your travels were uneventful and for that I am glad even if you found it boring,” he supplies in proper greeting, offering his arms out and hugging her tight once she accepts.

It’s a nice feeling. An affirming that things are once again back to a routine he prefers even as she squeezes him a bit harder than he likes in that continued display of strength she was so fond of. It was something Alisaie had picked up after her many travels of Eorzea, and a new habit he would be remiss in chiding her for when it’s become habit to him as well.

“.... Alphinaud, do you mind telling me why your hair smells like a perfume stall?” Alisaie accused more than asked, a flat look on her face as she pulled back from their greeting embrace.

He’d barely felt his cheeks begin to flame before a sharp admission of, “Hey!” cut between them.

Snapping his fingers, Alvaar gripped a pair of scissors and pointed the handles at her as he leaned against the desk. “That’s it. You’re next Alisaie. I’ve had to tolerate that mop of flyaways and split ends for almost a month! And scorched ends! SCORCHED ENDS! I’m fixing this travesty today! Park it!”

It was nice, the way things always seemed to settle back into place when they returned. A bit less quiet and not as suited to study, but watching the pair argue while he was trying not to laugh was still preferable to the silence.

#alphinaud #alphinaud leveilleur #alvaar aldaviir #wol #alphinaud x wol #one sided pining #touch starved #minor role alisaie #FFXIV #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #oc #writing #mywriting #sfw #zartheit: tenderness #that moment when your wol has multiclassed so hard but it was only into non combat jobs... #if aesthetician was a class Alvaar would have it

[jenovahh]

KYKM - 14 Months, 7 1/2 Days

Though his heart leaps in his chest, only through years of practice is he able to maintain his neutral expression as he turns to the owner of the voice that had called his name.

There you stand, the very picture of disbelief, greatsword looking as it might fall out of your hand at any moment. Your emotions flit across your face too fast for him to take note of each of them, stunned for so long that eventually more footsteps are heard as the Scions emerge from the stairwell.

“Warrior of Light, is all well,” First one gasp, than many eyes land on him.

“Zenos?”

“But how did he,”

“By what manner,”

All chatter is silenced as he shifts his weight, sending the group of heroes on guard. “Well. I can see why our entrance was met with little resistance.” The white-haired male, Thancred he remembers, unsheathes his gunblade. The others follow suit, weapons wielded as a wry smile tugs at his lips. “How on earth did you get here?”

“I walked.” He drawls, further amused as it seems to rile up the other man.

“Thancred, ‘tis not the how that matters...” Urianger begins, eyes narrowing on him, “but why.”

“And just what will you all do if I refuse to tell any of you about my reasoning?” He challenges, hand slowly reaching for his sword as he delights in watching them squirm.

A single upraised hand from you is all it takes to stop their bickering, eyes cold and hard as they focus on him. “Keep going.”

Immediately the notion of being alone with him doesn’t sit well with anyone. “But we can’t leave him,” Alphinaud tries but you stop him with just a look.

“What can you do now, that you could not when we were liberating Ala Mhigo?” you ask lowly. Alphinaud freezes at that, before quickly realizing your anger is not directed at him, but at the man across the room. You are right though; there is no challenging someone of his might, he who has defied death itself. 

“Continue on to Vauthry.” you order, turning back to face him. “I will deal with him.” The other Scions all pass each other worried glances, but do as you say, continuing further upward the city.

Alone with you now, he realizes just how long it had been since he had last laid eyes on you. Not much has changed, save for that hardened look in your eyes, though it was not hard to guess that was of his own doing. “Must you look so hostile Warrior?”

Your eyes narrow impossibly further, slinging your greatsword to sit upon your shoulder. “Why are you here?” you ask, practically hissing like a snake with the most potent of venom. Shrugging, he gives no effort to appear peaceable as he moves from behind the counter, stepping out into the open space of the plaza.

“Why do you think?” he replies with his own question. You are barely controlling your fury, he can tell. It is taking all of your control to hold yourself back in this moment. “I came for you.” he answers truthfully, resting a hand on his sword.

“You would chase me across worlds, for your duel wouldn’t you?” The sound of swords connecting is sharp, familiar in his ears as you stand before him, pressing your sword against his own. He had not seen you move but had felt it all the same, his blade singing from the contact. His blood followed suit, rushing through his veins.

“I would chase you across worlds hero. I am here, am I not?” he murmurs, sending you skidding backwards across polished marble floor. He calls his power forth, feeling your strength brush harshly against his own. You do not speak again, launching yourself at him, swinging your sword that is practically the size of your body.

The ferocity you bear against him is something he has not felt since the first time you truly came to blows as equals.

When you had fought to win.

The anger in your eyes shines brighter than any gem, the gleam of your power brighter than the constant light that bathed this accursed land. Try as he might, the call of battle is infectious, tantalizing, that he can’t help but break out into a feral grin as you somersault into the air to bring down your sword upon him once more.

Show me why I chose you, and you alone.

It would be a disservice to you, to hold back when you give him your all.

Zenos is not above being flashy; unleashing Concentravity with little effort to gain some ground between the two of you. He was glad he had chosen to bring along his sword revolver, the gears clicking within like music as they came to a stop. He starts with The Swell, hair whipping about his shoulders as the wind picks up.

With a swipe of his blade, petals fly through the air as well as you, barely able to catch yourself before slamming into a wall much like Ran’jit did earlier. Your reflexes are better, faster, allowing you to use the momentum to vault yourself off the wall, sword aimed straight for him as he moves to quickly dodge out the way. A nearby counter is destroyed by the impact, your expression unchanged as you emerge from the rubble.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you.” You growl, reaching your hand out as dark, purple magic oozes in your hand. Clutching your stomach you cough as it disappears inside you, eyes glowing a sharp purple before you throw yourself at him once more. You swing your greatsword with remarkable ease, hitting him with the same attack over and over, to the point where he must dual wield if he wants a chance of withstanding your assault.

You have grown in strength.

That isn’t to say he had been slacking either, grinning as he merges the power of The Swell and The Storm, electric wind surrounding the two of you, sparks racing across your skin. You grit your teeth, eyes shining brightly as you resist his strength, his might that he had built to keep up with your constantly changing power. 

He had only ever wanted to match his equal. Ever since the beginning.

“Nothing could keep me from you, dear Warrior.” With a slice of his blade you hiss in pain as he nicks your arm, your eyes like steel as they look upon him. But even beneath that flinty stare, he can see the exhilaration that is mirrored in his own eyes. The thrill of battle that keeps you both coming back. 

“How did you even get here?” you ground out, locking blades with him once more, your fangs bared to catch his eye. Claws prepared to rip and tear and maim his skin. You had yet to draw his blood, but that did not mean he would not have a bruise or two tomorrow. 

For even for when you did not hold back, you still did, unable to cut him.

“Does the how matter, hero? Even your friend had said so, did he not...” he dodges a series of black pillars surrounding you, swapping swords to bring out Ame-no-Habakiri, it’s red tint shining brightly in the room. “It only matters why.”

“Then why?!” You roar, clutching your chest, more black, dark magic pouring from your body. He watches in mild shock as a shadow figure like yourself emerges, red eyes flashing brightly as an equally dark sword manifested. “Why would you hunt me down?!” You rush him first, your shadow not far behind.

Wielding two swords, he fends off the dual attacks, nearly overwhelmed by your power. “It hurts to see you!” you yell, swinging your sword in a dangerous arc, his sword barely able to stop the blow from landing. “It hurts to know you lied!” he gasps as your expression finally breaks, tears streaming from your eyes as you prepare another devastating attack.

But there was nothing more devastating than seeing you shed tears.

“I did lie.” he murmurs, taking advantage of your emotional state to send you flying away from him, the shade vanishing in wisps of shadow. “I did hurt you.” Face still tear stained, you run at him again, teeth gleaming. “I have hunted you down.” Catching your sword with his, he moves quickly, twirling with all the grace of a trained solider. You’re too slow this close, one hand knocking the wind out of you with a swift punch to the gut, the other taking your greatsword in hand and flinging it across the floor.

“I should be clearer with my words.” The movements are practically muscle memory as you struggle to fight back, his hand blocking yours before he could disable your movement. You are still very much a threat without a weapon to channel your aether, he had to remind himself, but in hand to hand combat he was superior in pure physical strength. Exhaustion shows in your blows, having spent all of your energy on bigger attacks. 

He goes on the offensive, feels the force of his blows on your body that he knows hurts, but holding back would be an insult. “When I said nothing could keep me from you, I meant nothing.” he growls as your fist strikes him across the face. He’s quick to retaliate, catching your chin with a solid uppercut, blood dripping from your busted lip. “Have I not chased you across worlds, to see you?” He barely dodges a swipe at his face, taking that wrist in hand to swing you into the closest wall.

And still you stand.

Rushing you down, he pins you there, placing his thigh between your legs, pinning your arms against the wall. You are too weak too fight against him as he bears his weight against you, your eyes wild and defiant as you glare up at him. “Get away from me!” you snarl, struggling against your restraints.

“Never,” he whispers, letting go of one wrist for a moment, to capture your chin, bringing your lips to his own. You struggle still, even as his mouth moves across your own, body trying to push him away. Your free hand finds his hair and pulls, bringing a deep moan from his throat that leaves you stunned. Pulling away, his eyes are half lidded, desire dancing brightly within them. “You are free to do that again, if you wish.” he thrums, delighting in your expression.

You are bloodied and bruised, hair wild and mussed. Your armor is stained with your blood and his own, from a glancing blow he had not realized you had landed. Your eyes are still frenzied, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you stare back at him in disbelief.

Never have you looked more beautiful.

“What other reason,” he grips your chin tighter, presses closer against you, “would I have to cross worlds, hunt you down? For one battle?” he laughs. “Nay...you are mine hero.” His grin is roguish as he flips his hair from his face, eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You know this.”

Your face is red hot, body slowly relaxing in his hold. That grip on his hair loosens and your struggles slowly cease. “To chase you down across realms...to follow you for months on end. To make peace with the only other Garleans on the continent. Living amongst your people for months as I researched a way to find you.” His grip unconsciously tightens. “I have trained with you, rescued you, stayed by your side. Why else would I have come?”

All is silent save for the sound of your shared breath, the sound of heartbeats pounding in his ears. “You came for me?” you whisper so quietly, that were he not so close he would not have heard you.

“Always.” He whispers, claiming your lips once more.

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #fanfic #fanfiction #my writings #kykm

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Of Friends and Feathers

Summary: Rurik plays pranks while in the Crystarium. The Scions are happy to see him so excitable but beneath all the smiles there is a bone deep worry for their friend.

Written by: @blood--hunter

Rating: General

Note: This was commissioned by someone who wanted to remain anonymous

The Crystal Tower was a spectacle that Rurik thought he would never see in its full glory. In the past it had stood over Mor Dohna like a memorial to the Allagans and all of their technology. Now, it stood as a reminder for what was to come. It’s familiar, flowing pathways and the glistening rooftops of the buildings that are small compared to the spiraling tower that sits amidst it all. It was all a reminder. A reminder of what had to be done in the next few days or risk losing it all. Risk losing their friends. Their new home. This world and their own.

To say it was a bit much would be an understatement.

The atmosphere of the Crystarium was grim without its leader. It was writ across every individual face within the city. The Scions were no different, perhaps they were the most upset of them all. Not only had the Crystal Exarch been captured but Rurik’s attempt to rid the First from the curse of Light had cost him much. His very being was on the line now, and all of his friends knew it. It was hard not to notice the solemn glances he received from both Urianger and Y’shtola, or the eerie silence that happened when he walked into a room with Ryne and Thancred, or the way Alphinaud and Alisaie hung around and clung to him, as if they were worried he would disappear in the blink of an eye. Yes. It was very hard not to notice.

Everyone was so gloomy. Something, or someone, needed to lift the fog that had fallen over his friends.

So Rurik took the responsibility into his own hands. But the question was, how could he do it? It was one thing to be the Warrior of both Light and Darkness, but another to be the friend they needed during these hard times. He was used to being the strong, dependent Warrior that slew primals and stopped the destruction of Eorzea. Rurik, despite everything he has ever gone through, is not used to being the one in peril. Well, not for extended periods of time, at least.

It is an effort to make his steps lighter, his smile bright. There is such a shroud of gloom upon all of those he encounters, it is hard not to succumb to grief himself. But he does not. Instead, he keeps marching on. Marching until he finds them. The Twins and Ryne.

They had gathered for lunch, apparently, as laid before them is a small meal of sandwiches and fruits. Though the light shines bright upon their spot amongst the lawn of the Crystal Tower, their faces show little to be happy over. The small smiles that take place on their lips upon his approach do not reach their eyes, and perhaps that hurts the most. That they are trying to be happy around him, for his sake.

Rurik is practically giddy as he stops just at the edge of the small circle they have formed, sitting down amongst them.

Alisaie is quick to raise a brow, “Rurik, I beg your forgiveness, but you look much like that cat that has swallowed the canary.”

“I believe that is offensive.” Aliphinaud says, forehead furrowing as he slaps his sister playfully on the shoulder, “At least, in Hrothgar culture.”

Rurik holds up a hand before the twins can start a fight amongst each other, “No need to worry. I suppose I am. I’m here to steal the three of you away!”

“Steal us?” Ryne says, clutching her hands close to her chest, “You don’t mean to run? Do you? Oh Rurik! Please don’t!”

“No! No!” He waves his hands, quieting their worried minds, “No! I mean to ask for your help in something quite benign! I promise!” That seems to get their attention, curious eyes and minds focusing on him. A mischievous smile slips onto Rurik’s face. “I plan to brighten our fellow Scion’s day. And, in doing so, perhaps lighten the hearts of the Crystarium as well.”

“A … prank?” Ryne asks, confusion evident. “Like the ones the pixies played on us?”

“Except more … fun and less … turning them into shrubbery.” Rurik says, a hand coming to scratch at the back of his neck. “Surely you’ve played pranks before, right Ryne?”

The young girl shakes her head and even Alisaie makes a strangled noise in her throat. “Truly? Not even once?” The Red Mage asks.

Ryne can only shake her head once more, fiddling with the lace of her skirt as she speaks, “No. Thancred and I were always fighting or on the run. And before that … Well, I was locked in a cage for most of my life.”

The Hrothgar cannot contain the growl that grows in his chest at the thought of Ryne’s previous treatment in the hands of Eulmore. But that was the past. This is now. Eulmore would be doing a lot better without Vauthry as its leader.

“Well then, I suppose we’ll have to fix that,” Rurik nods to himself, thinking, “The three of you can help me cheer up our fellow Scions. Small pranks, harmless fun, things like that.”

“I believe it would be well received, for the most part.” Alphinaud presses a knuckle to his lip as he considers the idea, “I, however, refuse to help you prank Y’shtola. It would be a wholly horrible idea.”

“I agree with my brother’s self preservation. Though Y’shtola is my dearest friend, I do not cherish the thought of having a meteor dropped on my head.”

“Agreed,” Rurik admits, “Y’shtola would be best treated to a small lunch and left well enough alone.”

Ryne smiles to herself, “So we are truly just cheering them up? Not being nasty like the pixies can be and making them forget things?”

“We’re only going as far as dropped buckets of water on heads and putting gum in their shoes.” Rurik confirms. “Nothing horrible.”

A wicked smile creeps onto Alisaie’s face, light shining in her eyes, “I have the perfect first candidate then.”

That is how the three of them find themselves in the Cabinet of Curiosities. The books seem to spiral up to greet them but there is just one tome in particular that they are looking for. Alisaie had come across it while they were looking for information earlier in their journey. Thankfully, nothing had come of it at the time, but it may just prove useful for their current “mission.”

“Here it is,” She says, plucking it from a shelf. The young Elezen holds it aloft from herself as if the distance would prove a hindrance to the book’s qualities. Her brother looks over the rough leather cover, raising a white brow as Rurik and Ryne join them.

“I suppose what my sister says is true.” Alphinaud murmurs, his curiosity obvious. Before Rurik can utter a word of caution the young Leveilleur flips open a page. For one, blissful, moment there is no reaction from anyone as they stare in awe at his stupidity. Alphinaud opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes from him. No sound at all, in fact.

Ryne’s hands go to her mouth in shock, eyes widening in fear. “Alphinaud!” She says, worry evident but all Rurik can do is press his face into his hands, scrubbing over his eyes.

“Can you Esuna yourself?” He asks, a chuckle leaving his chest as he watches his friend try to form words. Alisaie, for her part, seems more amused than exasperated and can’t help but laugh at her brother’s current predicament. He huffs at her. Unable to form his, usually, biting words he is reduced to stamping his foot like a child. With the wave of a hand over his own head, the spell leaves him.

Alisaie hides a smile behind her own fingers, “Ah, and here I thought I would be rid of your squawking for a little longer.”

Alphinaud has the courtesy to at least look embarrassed, his cheeks heating to red as he snaps the book closed. “Well, it works.”

Ryne giggles, worry deflating from her shoulders as she looks up at Rurik. “So, what now?” She asks, excitement bubbling in her eyes. Rurik can’t help the smile that sparks over his lips as he leans down, beginning to disclose his plan to the three younger Scions who surround them.

It does not take much to lure Urianger into the room of spiraling books and stairs. That he wasn’t already there was almost a miracle in and of itself. Ryne leads him into the Cabinet by hand, making sure to prattle on about some interesting fact she had discovered and wanted to show him. Though Urianger could be long winded and far too caught up in his studies, he was a keen man and it wouldn’t do for their prank to be discovered before it could even truly begin.

Rurik and the twins make sure to hide out of sight, each other’s hands clapped over another’s mouth to quell the giggles that want to slip from them even now.

“There’s this book that I’ve never seen before. Did you have it in the Source?” Ryne asks, slipping the large leather tome into Urianger’s hands. They all hold their breathing, hoping the Elezen man does not recognize the book.

He blinks, golden eyes laving over the cover with a measure of curiosity. “I have yet to come across such a tome before, no.” His fingers carve delicately over the pages before eagerly flipping them open. Rurik is the first to break for it, running out of the room before he can truly see the other Scion’s reaction. Ryne is quick to follow suit, an apology slipping from her lips as she darts out the door.

Urianger opens his mouth to question what in the realm was going on but his words die in his throat before they can truly begin. His face forms a frown as Alisaie and Alphinaud slip from their hiding place, laughter ringing from their lips as realization begins to dawn on the older Elezen man.

The four of them fall into the Crystarium’s courtyard piling on top of one another in a disheveled mess. Their laughter rings long and loud bouncing off of the stone walls and metal filigree with ease.

“You should have seen his face!” Alisaie chortles as she unwinds herself from the pile of bodies. “I’ve never seen Urianger so dumbstruck! I believe he wasn’t expecting it at all!”

Her brother is the next to prop himself up, having landed square on his behind, “I dare say that was the most conniving thing I’ve ever witness, much less been a part of.” He looks to Ryne, a cheeky smile on his face, “I believe we have our young friend to thank for it. Urianger had not expected such a thing from the likes of you.”

The Oracle of Light does her best to look ashamed but the gleam of glee is telling in her eyes, “I do hope he’ll be able to forgive us.”

Rurik waves a hand, retrieving himself from the ground to stand, “Don’t worry, he’ll forgive you. It’s no worse than that time I tripped and spilled ink all over his research. If he can forgive me for that, then you’ll be fine.” The Hrothgar offers a hand to the younger girl, Ryne readily takes it. As soon as she’s standing she wipes away the dirt that had sought to dust her white dress.

“Alright,” She says, a little eager now, “Who next?”

Rurik’s smile speaks of disaster.

The horrible thing about ever lasting light was that any task that took place outside became that much harder. It was as if the midday sun was always beaming down upon their backs as they stooped over the ground.

“Remind me again, why are we doing this?” Alphinaud complains, far too unused to manual labor. He had helped save the realm on multiple occasions, yes, but doing chores was far beyond his expertise.

Alisaie huffs as she stops in her task, giving her brother a plane look. “If we have to explain this again to you…”

Rurik waves a hand, tucking another bundle of feathers under his arm, “This is an old trick. We take some syrup and some Chocobo feathers. We put them in a bucket and then we-”

“Drop it on Thancred!” Ryne interjects perhaps a little more excited than she should be to tar and feather her guardian. Or maybe that’s why she was so happy.

Rurik nods, picking up another few feathers from the stable’s ground. “And I’m certain that the stable keep won’t mind us cleaning up a bit.”

It is in this moment, while the Hrothgar man is reaching down for yet another feather that a dark shadow falls over the four of them. A shiver runs down his spine as he stands, slowly lifting himself up to full height. It is the same feeling he got when a Eikon was standing over him. The feeling that he was in danger. The feeling that he was about to fight for his life.

“Rurik.”

He swallows, not daring to turn around. He recognized that voice. And that tone. He was in trouble.

“What … are you doing?”

Mysteriously, or perhaps not so mysteriously at all, the three younglings that had once been accompanying him had seemingly vanished into thin air. Rurik was alone in his facing down of Y’shtola.

He swallows, suddenly quite sure that he was about to meet his end here. Oh how would the tale be told. A great warrior being brought low by a single glare.

“We were…” He trails off, how did one even explain away what they were doing? Rurik wasn’t one for lying to his friends and lying to Y’shtola of all people was … a daunting task to say the least “…Cleaning up?” The Sorceress raises one perfect eyebrow as she folds her arms. She tilts her head just so. Rurik had to wonder if there was something about his aether that told her he was lying. Maybe it changed in hue? But Y’shtola was perceptive regardless of the state of her eyes.

“You three, come out from behind there.” Y’shtola turns her head ever so slightly to watch as the twins and Ryne tumble from behind a hay bale.

Case in point.

“Now, why don’t all of you come along with me. You can explain to me exactly what you’re doing over a cup of tea.” There is no argument in her voice and Rurik finds himself plodding along behind her not unlike a misbehaving child. There isn’t even a complaint from Alisaie as they all shuffle back to the Pendants.

Y’shtola had long ago refused her own quarters within the Crystarium. Rurik knew that she hadn’t trusted the Exarch. Hadn’t trusted G’raha. The memory of him makes his chest sing with guilt as he opens the door to his own apartment. It is fully stocked with all sorts of goods and the Miqo’te woman is quick to make herself at home. She rifles through his cupboards with ease, as if the task was as familiar to her as breathing.

Eventually, the tea pot is put over the fire and she turns to the four of them. They all sit at the counter, heads hanging as they wait for a talking to about what one should and shouldn’t do during times of crisis.

It doesn’t come.

Instead a sigh leaves her lips as she looks over the lot of them, folding her arms once more. “Now, what exactly had the four of you planned to do to our dear friend?”

Rurik’s head snaps up. Even he had heard the curl of a smile in her voice and sure enough there was one sweeping over her features, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

Alphinaud is the first to muster the courage to speak, not that it takes much; “Well, you see-”

“We were going to prank him!” Ryne nearly shouts the words and it causes all to jump, save Y’shtola.

She moves to the fire, bringing the pot off as it begins to steam. Five cups are filled to the brim with tea and placed before each of them. Silence persists over each of them as they watch her move gracefully through the kitchen. It is not until Y’shtola takes her seat that she finally deigns to respond.

“I see.”

Rurik breathes a sigh of relief.

“And how did you suppose to do this?”

He sucks it back in again.

Ryne pulls at the hem of her dress a bit, seeming to be thinking carefully. “We were going to get buckets of syrup and feathers and pour them on him….”

“And how did you suppose you were going to surprise him with such a thing?” She sips her tea, bringing the hot liquid carefully to her lips and taking a drink, “I remind you that Thancred is a very agile man.”

Alphinaud presses a knuckle to his chin as he thinks, “Y’shtola is correct. Thancred is perceptive. If we were to miss our target, all our hard work would go to waste.”

“It’s not as if we’re attacking him. His defenses aren’t impenetrable.” Alisaie says, brow furrowing even as she too thinks.

Suddenly this was more a war council than a fireside chat.

“May I suggest.” Y’shtola begins, swirling her tea in her cup slightly. For some reason it reminded Rurik of Master Matoya. Perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised. “That you distract him? He won’t be expecting such a thing from the four of you.” Her light eyes turn to Ryne. “Especially you. If you were to somehow convince him that there was suddenly something of utmost importance under the catwalks of the courtyard…”

Ryne nearly jumps out of her chair in her excitement. “Yes! And then the others could drop the buckets on him!”

The three teens beam, beginning to talk excitedly amongst themselves as Y’shtola’s attention returns to Rurik. Her smile is soft, something that he didn’t wholly expect. Rurik can only smile back, “Well, it seems you’ve been a great help to our efforts…”

Y’shtola hums, taking another sip of her tea. “You have done much for me in my time of need, I would not turn my back on you during yours.” There was more to her words than Rurik liked. He wanted to lift the grief and heartache that rest on his fellow Scion’s shoulders. Not add to it.

So a smile spreads over his lips. “Speaking of my helping you…” He tilts his head as his smile grows wider still, “…Remember when you came back and-”

She gives him a firm look, peering over the edge of her cup in a way that only spelled death for him.

“-you were-”

Y’shtola glares harder.

“-In Runar’s arms.”

She deflates, shaking her head. Though Rurik notices the creeping smirk on her lips. “You four should go and carry out your plan before Thancred catches wind of it.” The children stop their animated conversation in order to peer at Y’shtola. “It won’t be long until he finds out. He is far more keen than he lets on.”

Rurik knew that. Thancred was capable of a lot of things. “We have to act quickly then!” He says, popping up and out of his seat.

Alisaie nods, “I’ll fetch the rest of the feathers,” She turns to her brother, “You grab the syrup. Ryne, plan your distraction with Rurik. We’ll regroup on the catwalks!” Her voice doesn’t broker much argument and her and Alphinaud dash out of Rurik’s apartments before he can get a word in edgewise. The two of them were far too used to working in synchronization.

Rurik watches them rush out he looks to Ryne shrugging alongside her.

“I’ll meet you on the catwalks!” The young Hume girl obviously holds back a giggle as she rushes out after the twins. It was nice to see her smile.

Rurik turns back to Y’shtola who still sits at the counter, tea in hand. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you?”

She smiles again, “I assume sooner rather than later.”

The Hrothgar laughs as he moves towards the door, mischief shining in his eyes as he takes the knob in hand, ready to use it as a shield if need be. “I’m sure Runar will be worried about you! Don’t forget to tell him hello for me!” He calls, waving gently before he dodges out the door as if he’s about to be struck. He hears a half hearted yell and perhaps, just perhaps, had seen a blush on Y’shtola’s cheeks.

Soon he is reconvening with the children on the catwalks of the Cyrstarium. Below them is plush grass and carefully hewn stone. They had selected this spot because very few passers by came beneath it. It wouldn’t do to accidentally dump syrup and feathers on some poor sod who was only going about their daily business.

“Alright,” Alphinaud says, standing as tall as he can, “Let us go over the plan once more.”

Ryne pops up, blue eyes bright with mirth, “I’ll lead Thancred here with something really important!”

“Rurik and I will be on standby with the buckets,” Alisaie says, cracking her knuckles as if preparing for a fight, “We’ll be waiting for Ryne to use the code phrase before we dump the buckets.”

“That will give you enough time to get away.” Rurik nods to the red headed girl, smiling at her eagerness.

Ryne nods, “Remember: Pixies! Then drop the buckets!”

The group nods in unison, seemingly prepared to take on a Behemoth with the amount of adrenaline flowing through them.

“Agreed!” Rurik puts his hand out, the other three put their hands on top of his. “On three. One! Two! Three! Break!”

Ryne rushes off as Rurik and Alisaie take their places. Both of them crouch, holding their buckets in the ready. Thancred could arrive at any moment and Rurik felt tense, ears twitching as he waited for the signal.

“Here comes Ryne!” Alphinaud half shouts and half whispers, fingers cupped over his eyes to block out the everlasting light that beat down upon their backs. “But I don’t see-”

“The four of you are rather sneaky.”

A gasp leaves Rurik’s throat as he falls back. Standing on the railing in front of him was a man. White coat billowing in the small breeze from the Crystarium.

Thancred.

“How did you-!” Alisaie is sprawled beside him, seemingly just as taken off guard.

Thancred folds his arms, standing on the railing as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I heard the strangest thing from Urianger.” There is the sound of footfalls against wood and Rurik turns his head to find Alphinaud having already run quite some distance down the catwalk. Thancred doesn’t seem too perturbed and continues. “He told me that a group of pesky children had tricked him into opening a book that had taken away his voice.” He turns silver eyes to the Hrothgar. “And can you imagine my surprise when I noticed the four of you slinking around the Crystarium with big smiles on your faces?” Another sound of footfalls. Rurik looks to find Alisaie having run the opposite direction of her brother. He has been left to his cold, dark fate.

“T-Thancred!” He raises a shaking hand, as if begging for mercy, “It’s not what it looks like-!”

He hops down from the railing, standing over Rurik now. “It seems as if you were about to tar and feather me!”

“N-No! Not at all!” He tries to give the Rogue turned Gunbreaker a dashing smile but it falls short.

Thancred guffaws, stooping over to pick up both of the buckets. “Don’t try to lie. You’re horrible at it.” The man raises a brow. “I can only assume it was you who began this charade?”

Rurik has enough sense to nod his head. He was not one to submit others to their own terrible fate. “The children had nothing to do with this.”

His friend nods his head as well, “I will take your word.”

Rurik is a brave and just man. Warrior of Light. Warrior of Darkness….

….Warrior of syrup and feathers….

Time goes in slow motion as, with a simple tilt of his hands, the Hyur dumps sticky syrup and dozens of feathers onto him.

Rurik gives a great scream. It echoes throughout the Crystarium and even causes some birds to fly from the roofs. “Oh Thancred!” He says, clutching at his (now uncomfortably sticky) heart. “How could you betray me like this.”

“Oh get up you great lug. Let’s find the others.”

They make their way back down and into the courtyard. Rurik draws plenty of stares and laughs with his current state. However, he can’t find the will to be upset or angry. Much the opposite. When they finally make it to the plush green grass near the markets his face is beaming with a smile.

Just as Thancred had predicted, Alisaie, Alphinaud, and Ryne rush up to them as soon as they appear. There are apologies in their eyes.

“Forgive me!” Alphinaud cries, a towel bunched up tight in his hands. He begins to wipe away at the syrup and feathers but they only manage to stick to the cloth.

Alisaie looks up to him, a frown on her face as she folds her arms. “You should have run.” But he can see the glimmer of a laugh on her lips as he shrugs.

Ryne seems to be next but her hands are balled up at her chest as she gives Thancred a talking to. “How could you! That was so mean!”

“In my defense, you were going to do it to me first.” Thancred tries to defend only to have Ryne glare harder at him. She seems half ready to give him an ear full when the laugh that Rurik had been holding in finally bursts from his chest. The group turns their eyes towards their friend, watching in bewilderment as the stands triumphant, hands on his hips, a long and boisterous laugh leaving him.

When he finally quiets, and wipes away a few tears from his eyes, there is a beaming smile on his face.

“What on earth?” Alisaie asks and Rurik is quick to reply.

“It would seem I achieved what I wanted to…”

“I’ll bite,” Thancred folds his arms, a brow raised, “What was that?”

“To make you all happy.”

The words are so simple and yet they seem to shoot through the very hearts of those gathered around the Hrothgar. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation they were in. Perhaps it was that they had gone through so much already. Or perhaps it was just that they had missed their dearest friend. Regardless of the truth those five simple words brings a tear to even Thancred’s eyes.

“Oh Rurik!” Ryne says, unthinkingly throwing herself against him to hide her face in his syrupy and feathery shirt.

“Ryne wait your-!” Rurik tries to gently pry her off but she is much stronger than she seems and before he knows it both the twins have joined as well, small sobs echoing from the three of them.

Thancred claps a friendly hand on his shoulder, a small smile on his features that is only somewhat presided over by his friends currently sticky state. There are no words between them, only a shared nod of understanding.

Rurik sighs as he leans down, giving the three teenagers a great big hug. That seems to remind them of his current situation and they all leap off of him, sputtering and shaking sticky feathered hands and arms.

“Rurik!” Alisaie shouts indignantly.

Alphinaud tries to wipe away the feathers with little progress. “I suppose this means we all need baths.” He says, a sigh on his lips.

“I don’t know, I think the feathers are a nice touch, don’t you think?” Thancred smirks, seemingly proud of himself for avoiding such a fate.

Ryne, however, has other ideas. With a speed Rurik had only seen her use during the most dire of situations she wraps her arms around Thancred, giving him an overly large hug. The older male sputters now, trying to pry himself away. Alas, he had trained his protege far too well and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot wiggle out of her arms. There is a short scuffle as he all but dances in the small circle of her arms, trying carefully not to get any feathers or syrup on him but wholly unable to with how much she’s covered in it.

“Ryne!” He yells, and now it’s Rurik’s turn to laugh, nearly falling over with the force of it Alisaie and Alphinaud are quick to join him in his mirth. When Thancred finally pries himself from Ryne’s arms he too is now covered in feathers. “Ugh…” He groans, “Do you know how long it takes to wash this thing?”

That seems to be the final straw and Rurik again lands on his hind end, bellowing a laugh as he rolls in the grass. The teens join him in the grass, laughing their hardest and brightest. Thancred also snickers, a few feathers falling from him as he watches the four of them roll around without a care in the world.

And though the times were hard and harder things were yet to come, there was much mirth to be had. For years yet to come there were tales of the Warrior of Darkness. About his courage. About his bravery. About how he single handedly saved Norvrandt. But in this small nook of the world there were other tales. Tales of how, on one sweet day under a sky of light that would soon fade to black and shine with distant stars, he shared in mirth with his closest friends and brought smiles to faces that had not seen one in years.

And that was the best kind of tale.

#commission #nonreaderinsert #writing #otherswriting #blood hunter #sfw #sfw nonreaderinsert #sfw writing #warrior of light #original characters #oc fic #oc writing

[voidsentprinces]

Yep, definitely enjoyed Thancred’s arc that was brought up Post-Heavensward with the Minfilia reveal. Actually processed through this expansion. Though I still would of liked it, if Emet-Selch was still the reflection of all the Scions and Ran’jit didn’t end up being in it but, eh.

Ryne, the fragmented and broken husk. No memory of her birth name, raised to fight a battle for Hydaelyn in the First. And, for all intents and purposes, tempered by one of the ancient Primals.

Urianger, the man made to be burdened with the truth of the situation, unable to divert from his path for the good of his homeland. Having to be distant and closed off from his peers.

Thancred, as you stated, the man who has lost and lost and lost. Having to see the one he loved embodied in a fragment of her original existence. Held prisoner, initially, by the vainest beings on the First.

Alisaie, fighting hard for the cause and the hope of both her world and this one. But, always having to watch the ones she cares for suffer. Carrying their prayers for a better tomorrow on her back. The loss of her grandfather, Ga Bu, and the Scions as they vanished still lingering with her. Even if the Scions were found safe and sound on the otherside.

Alphinaud, the scholar, and brilliant strategist. Made to make tough choices in the face of adversary. Always having to find a way forward.

Y’shtola, who found her own people among the Night’s blessed. A group of darkness worshipping people. Who find the strength to fight against the light. She gives up most of her white magic conjury in return for the offensive and greater power of thaumaturge. Unable to recognize her dearest friend, bathed in light. The first time they remet.

And yet they all make choices that Emet fails to.

Ryne instead of wallowing in who she was, if she had any family in the First. Forges her own existence, her own path to fight. Pushing against Emet’s philosophy that the broken fragments of perfection are lesser beings. Though she was hesitant at first. When she claims her own place in the First as Ryne instead of Minfilia. She is shown to be far more courageous, certain of what she wishes to do. And by all the Twelve in the Source, she is going to do it. She wants to be part of the Scion’s family and keep it. And no one, not even a “Great Sorcerer of Eld” is gonna stop her. She is more aware of her weaknesses but, also given the power to track down Lightwardens along with Eden later on. She supports the Warrior of Light by controlling the raging warden light within them. Saving us AND the First more than we ever did her.

Urianger closes the distance between him and his friends quickly once the game is up. Free of his burden, he is even more animated than before. Forging his own destiny in the First. Using his knowledge of the Fae to track down Bismarck on a fluke. Helping the people of the First, that he simply did not know. Out of the goodness of the realm and not for the goodness of the Exarch’s plan. The script was torn up and thrown out. And he was able to do as he longed to.

Thancred accepted that Minfilia was never coming back, he didn’t deny Ryne any longer. He wouldn’t coddle her or speak for her. He would protect her and see her grow as a person, not as a phantom. She was no longer Minfilia but, by the Gods. Like any of his remaining Scion friends, if anyone tries to get Ryne, you’re going to find a Gunblade SQUARELY in your chest. Minfilia is gone and he couldn’t make amends for the carnival accident or Nabriales or Lahabrea or the Banquet. But, he COULD make amends to Ryne and his previous treatment of her. Force to shrug off the cloak of martyrdom that Emet wears as a robe. Both men trying to make amends for their failing in the past and wallowing in pity, but only one of them stands up and takes responsibility. And has now started to work towards forgiveness and recovery. (Plus he lost his “eye patch” bandana soooo...)

Alisaie finds her own strength to keep the friends she has and make good on honoring the friends she lost. Expunging light from the First and protecting the Warrior of Light in the climax of the expansion, the best to her abilities. And when she is knocked back by a greater power. One battle later, she stands back up and channels her aether into the great demi-deity to see his end. And by extention the end of the torment the residence of the Inn at Journey’s End experienced. Fighting for the future of those who still remained instead of clinging to those lost in the past.

Alphinaud, having to face his fear of water from showering to swimming. Having to accept that some powers are beyond him. But, finally after trying to make amends for the Crystal Brave debacle. For Ilberd’s rise to power which lead to the summoning of Shinryu and the death of Papalymo. After months of trying to prove his worth to everyone. The Warrior of Light, Ysayle, Estinien, and his own sister. Without a second thought when his sister is blown back by Emet-Selch. He doesn’t think, he immediately jumps into action. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t think, he doesn’t look for a way to defeat Emet-Selch. He becomes like the Warrior, he so often idolized after the Braves. And just does for the greater good, when faced with the impossible task. He stands against it none the less. No longer floundering like he had while swimming, he pulls his own weight above the tide of dark and swims against it. No longer enchanted by the tales and past, but hellbent on protecting the future.

Y’shtola no longer carrying the hopes of the Night’s Blessed by her own. No longer cutting out her allies or second guessing herself. She goes through very reckless means to ensure their survival. But, now she shares it with her peers. Something Emet-Selch has always neglected to do. Always working alone, feeling his power was enough to stand by himself. Avoiding the other Ascians because they show him not the rose tinted nostalgia he painted in Amaurot. But, what they’ve become, what HE’S become. Both characters take the title of a station that isn’t their own and play the part to perfection. But Shtola recognizes that Master Matoya as a title does not define her existence or who she actually is. While Hades wears Emet-Selch and stifles his very being within his own flesh. Only discarding it at the last moment, but still clinging to his group of followers and their prayers for a dark tomorrow. Not the bright future they now have as fragments among the shards. Similarly, Y’shtola insists the Night’s Blessed can stand on their own without her. She’ll be there in times of need, but she cannot be their only source of hope nor can the Warrior of Dark. They have prayers of their own which she did once seek to see come true. But, upon being unable to recognize the Warrior of Light. Comes to see the bigger picture. She constantly shows concern over her friend letting what they’ve become back behind the wall she had put up. Accepting that this was the only way forward and trusting in Urianger and the Exarch to an extent despite her misgivings. And when the house of cards collapsed, she didn’t resent Urianger or the Exarch for the facade and secrecy, she still held belief in them knowing that like Thancred. They had always been men of resilience and they would continue to be so.

Emet-Selch never put his trust or hope in Lahabrea or Elidibus, openly mocking them both in front of anyone who would listen. Chastising Lahabrea for working against the Warrior of Light. Only to do so himself just because the Warrior couldn’t handle the light of the Wardens all at once. Calling Elidibus a worrier in a mocking way. Being so full of himself and his own plan. Standing alone and so sure of himself. That he did not foresee his end until it came. And despite getting killed by his previous friend. He let go, trusting in the Warrior to carry the memory of his people as he was fading.

He was a bad man, he had done terrible things. But, now...at the end. He trusted his most hated enemy with his people’s future. The Amaurot citizens and Ascians who hadn’t succumb to Zodiark. That still existed in the fragments? Remember them, remember they once lived. They are now the Warrior’s burden to bear. And despite all his postering and blustering at the end. The Warrior of Light was the only “Ascian”, Emet-Selch ever put his trust in. Even if it was for a selfish wish in the end.

Something Y’shtola recognizes and begins working towards almost immediately after she doesn’t recognize us. Having us shoulder the prayers of her own people, making us walk among the Night’s Blessed just as they were, not as echos of how they were and through the realistic odds put against her. As well as cooperation with her peers sees the Night’s Blessed prayers fulfilled. Not at the cost of their rivals the Children of the Eternal Night with their “backwards” thinking. But, for the good of everyone.

#{ words from beyond } #{ akadilkem } #long post #shadowbringers spoilers #the scions and emet-selch