#;ryce

Much has happened in the years since Ryce was a fresh-faced adventurer. Busy as his life was, though, he was never one to forget a face - and when a familiar one made an appearance at the bar in Ul'dah, he didn't hesitate to approach and lean over the miqo'te with a pleased grin.

Some extras from my gposing sesh today

Auraugust day 7: Family

“If ye’d told me when I came to Eorzea that I’d find the love of my life, and have half a dozen beautiful kids, I might’ve thought you were crazy.

But here I am.”

“Ah-” It’s a grunt of effort as he sits up, then of pain when the movement disturbed the wounds underneath the skin.

Ryce pauses, grimacing, before his features shift into an embarrassed smile.

“Thanks for th’ help. Probably would’ve suffered more n’ a few broken ribs if ye hadn’t helped me out. I owe ye a drink....”

Another pause, his cheeks darken.

“Uh.. seen my shorts anywhere..?”

lewds under the cut

Summary: A short drabble detailing why Reunion is so important to Ryce. Set during the events of SHB.

(insp.)

Fitting that it would rain on such a ceremony. Arasen stood at his parents’ side, one hand curled into his mother’s as she held it tightly. She had been crying for most of the day - as have many others.

One of their warriors, a dear friend to many, had perished during a skirmish with another passing nomadic tribe of the Steppe. While others had only been wounded, he was the only one to have perished. Others might have died too were it not for him.

He glanced around, everyone in the tribe had gathered to see him buried. Everyone sported dark coal marks on their faces that ran down like tears - including himself. Another glance to the side gave him the view of his younger sister burying her face against their mother’s clothes and smearing her paint a bit.

Ryce held his breath, though he didn’t mean to. Otherwise he’d likely be hyperventilating as they approached the settlement just a short way from the Dawn Throne. He didn’t recall this being here when he left - though it had been years since he last saw these plains. Ahead of him, the others made conversation as to their plans and he was unfortunately deaf to it all.

They passed through the gates, and he felt the eyes of guards staring at them - at him. He recognized their colors as Qestir, those who spoke no words. Past them, the chatter of merchants filled the air, selling wares and other various items necessary to survival. He saw the colors of quite a few tribes here, some of the Mol, a few Oronir, a handful of Buduga. No sign of violence or bloodshed or any cross rivalry between tribes.

A place of peace.

Even through the rain and the sadness in his heart, Arasen remained strong. Allowing his mother and sister to lean on him while their father and a handful of others worked on burying the man’s body. Meanwhile their Khan spoke the rites.

“-for one life makes the difference of the many. Our minds remember you. Our voices share your story. Our hearts beat with your blood, that we may be reunited when the earth, too, claims us.”

From there he was buried, the adults hummed together through their sadness, a song of honor and love. Only afterward did they begin to disperse until there was nobody left besides his mother, and Arasen, who held onto her arm long after their clothes were soaked and his father took his sister back to the camp.

“Mother... would we really be united again after we’re buried..?” He couldn’t help but ask, to which he earned a tearful laugh and a kiss to his forehead.

“Of course, my love. Until then, our loved ones live on through the rest of our lives, and we honor them by living it that we may share stories upon our reunion.”

“Well.. I’ll make sure to get lots of stories, then.”

He was seventeen. The song hummed from his lips, driven off key by the fear and the grief. Wounds burned, but they paled in comparison to the way his heart hurt. His feet carried him far and he dared not to stop or turn around, afraid of what he would find should he return to the camp.

“-My mind... remembers you... My voice.. will tell your story... My heart beats.. with your blood.. that I.. may be..”

“-The merchants call this place Reunion.”

Eyes widen, staring up at the Aetheryte. The others were speaking to a merchant nearby that hailed from Doma, who was explaining what this place was. Neutral ground where tribes that passed through could restock and trade.

The lump in Ryce’s throat grew to a painful tightness as his eyes brimmed over. One after another, the tears began to fall, too fast for him to stop them. All he could do was cover his face with his hands, and fall to his knees. Unable to explain when his friends rushed over, worried.

For how could he explain that his tears were of their own contradiction? Of pain and relief? Sadness and joy? That he was one life, carrying the memories and the love of the many?