#ffxivwrite 2020

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Eighty-nine. Ninety.

The bristles dragged through her hair in a soothing rhythm, marking a routine she'd once kept daily and all but forgotten.

She'd been lulled into a half-dozing state by the sound of the wind as it whistled around the eaves of the manor - it was very cold but there was no snow or ice for once - and every northerly burst made her feel as though she'd stepped back in time a good ten years.

A knot from one of the logs popped in the hearth-fire. She started and exhaled, then raised the brush again.

Ninety-one. Ninety-two.

There were differences, of course. No rattle from a nearby ceruleum space heater, and no worry that her aunt might come knocking for one of her talks. But she was no longer that girl of eighteen summers and this was not the borrowed guest-chamber her aunt and uncle had assigned her in the family compound in Garlemald. This was Ishgard and over a decade had passed since she had been that girl. If anyone in her family spoke her name now it was to curse it for the shame her actions had undoubtedly brought upon them.

But she had no regrets. Things had happened that no reasonable person could have foreseen, and she had done the best she could under the circumstances.

Ninety-three.

When one thought of it in that light, Aurelia supposed she hadn't done so poorly. Granted, hers was something of an extraordinary case, but even Warriors of Light weren't invincible and before all of this had started, she had just been a normal woman no different from any other on the star. If she had known what she-

A rap on the heavy door.

"Mistress Aurelia? Are you awake?"

She set her brush down. "I am," she said. "What do you need, Saulette?"

"The Co-- er, Lord Edmont's asked for you."

"Give me one moment." Aurelia reached for her soft house coat and stepped into her slippers, then made her way to the door. It opened with a creak and the girl on the other side looked distressed to see that she was still fumbling with the belt at her waist.

"Oh, miss, you should have said-"

"It's fine," she said, smiling. "I hardly need assistance to put on a robe, and Lord Edmont will likely have been winding down himself. Where is he?"

"The parlor, miss."

She padded down the hallway and up the stairs at Saulette's heels. The young maid opened the door and bowed, stepping aside to allow Aurelia entry. Edmont de Fortemps sat in his customary chair, warming himself at the hearth and dressed in bedclothes of his own, careworn features drawn and pensive, silver-streaked dark hair perhaps a touch less neat than he might have allowed during daytime hours. It was a rare look at a man who was as controlled and dignified as her own father had been.

"Mistress Aurelia, my lord."

"Thank you, Saulette. Pray excuse us. I would like to speak with her alone."

The girl bowed. "Of course, my lord."

The door clicked softly shut at her back. Lord Edmont was smiling at her in a way her own father had never done, and gesturing at the chair nearest him.

"Well, come in, my dear," he said. "It's too cold to stand in the stairwell, you'll catch a cold from that draft." She smiled in return, drawing closer to the fire and curling up in the plush upholstered chair. "Are you nervous?"

"About tomorrow? A bit, but in that public speaking sort of way, you know."

"I do know, as it happens! Between you and me: that is the one bit about being the official head of the House that I have not missed." He reached for a porcelain teapot sitting on a tray at the nearby end table. "All the heres and wherefores and endless worry about my public image and how it might or might not reflect poorly upon the family as a whole."

"Indeed."

"I wish Artoirel joy of it. He's been chomping at the bit but I suspect reality will set in soon enough."

"I think he'll do well," Aurelia said, watching him pour the cup.

"He will. I love the boy, you know. Very much his mother's child. A bit stuffy at times, but he's a good man with a good head on his shoulders, and he's not mired in Church politics the way some of his peers are. He'll do the Fortemps name justice, I think." Edmont's dark eyes shone with cheer as he lifted the filled teacup and offered it to her. "...You had a great deal of influence there, you know."

"You give me far too much credit that I cannot claim, Lord Edmont. Artoirel is his own man."

"So he is. But you've always led by example, and you taught him some valuable lessons I think he might not otherwise have learned. Cream and sugar?"

"Just a bit of cream. And one lump." She paused, cup halfway to her lips. "...You really don't miss it at all?"

"There are some habits I miss. But it's rather like losing a tooth, you know. Strange at first but then everything falls into place over time and you barely notice that part of the routine was ever missing at all. No," he said, watching her sip, "I think it will be no great effort to make the adjustment. Being a private citizen does have its perks. And I'm still the family patriarch. That hasn't changed."

"No," Aurelia smiled over the rim of the cup. "No, it hasn't."

"Which brings me to the reason why I had Saulette bring you to me."

"What? Oh dear. That sounds rather serious," she said, trying to keep her tone lighthearted as she set the cup aside. "Tataru didn't ring you in the middle of the night for some emergency or other, did she?"

"Fury forbid!" he guffawed. "No, nothing like that. I have something I want to show you, but first I must beg your forgiveness."

"What? Why?" Aurelia was honestly curious. He set his cup aside and reached for a small, varnished spruce box sitting upon his ottoman, grunting softly with the effort. "Why would you need to apologize to me for anything?"

Edmont paused, one hand caressing the grain of the wood. That pensive expression had returned to his face, the one she had caught just before Saulette had announced her presence.

"I've little idea what to do for something like this. I only ever had sons, you see," he said. "I have loved all three of them. Now I don't delude myself into thinking I have been a perfect father, or even a particularly good one, but I like to think I have done well enough by them. ...Two of them, at least. At any rate, I'm told that in Garlemald, the tradition is for the bride to take with her into the ceremony something old, something new-"

"-something borrowed, and something blue," Aurelia finished. "Yes, it's an old wedding custom the Empire never saw fit to dismantle. Just a sort of mnemonic, for good luck. But I would hardly say it's a requirement."

"Be that as it may," he said, his fingers working the catch on the box open, "I would very much like you to wear these tomorrow."

Within the box lay a delicate lace-trimmed handkerchief of sky-blue linen, faded and discolored in places with age, folded into a neat triangle and lying atop what appeared to be a bundle of old letters. Edmont unfolded the corners with as much care as if the cloth was some priceless artifact, and within lay a small, simple pendant, an aquamarine cut into the shape of a teardrop. Firelight reflected upon the individual facets until the jewel sparkled.

"It's stunning and I'm honored that you would trust me with it. Did these pieces belong to the late countess?"

His smile trembled. "No," Edmont said. "They belonged to Haurchefant's mother."

"Oh..."

"My wife would have destroyed all of it, so I concealed this box within my personal effects. I intended to give all of this to him when he married, but-"

Aurelia bowed her head, staring into her cup.

"It bears repeating," his tone was gentle, "that I do not blame you for his death. I have never blamed you."

"But-"

"I grieve him, as does any parent who has had to bury their child, but I have never blamed you. I would give anything to have him back. Yet I cannot deny my pride in having raised a son who would be selfless enough to-" He swallowed, the bob in his throat swift and almost violent in its movement. "...Well, we'll never get through this if I start crying. Take it."

He passed her the box. She stared down at the pendant.

"Lord Edmont, I-"

"No titles necessary, my dear. I think at this point we've moved well beyond formality." He cleared his throat and glanced into the fire. "Well, I'm certain your own parents would be very proud of you."

Oh hells. Her throat felt hot and tight and her vision blurred.

"I very much doubt that," she said, her voice even but only just. "Oh, I doubt that."

"Why so?"

Aurelia's fingers clutched the edges of the box until they dug into her palms.

"...I shouldn't burden you with this-"

"By all means, my dear. Go on."

"It's... my background is much like Haurchefant's, in truth." She sighed. "My mother was a musician and an actress. She had top billing in one of His Radiance's personal favorite troupes, in fact. She enjoyed a good deal of renown when she still toured the imperial playhouses. But fame or no, she came from common stock and my uncle wouldn't have the match. Father broke a betrothal and defied his family to marry her. He even left the capitol at their request."

Edmont had leaned against the armrest of his chair to listen, his expression patient and focused. She glanced into the mirror over the mantelpiece and saw her face, as ever, staring back. Her father's broad nose and high cheekbones and golden hair, her mother's eyes. No matter where she went, she could look in a mirror and always see her mother's eyes. Usually, it was a comfort, in its own way. Tonight-

She chewed on her lower lip.

"They didn't know about her weak heart until I came along. It took so much out of her, and she never recovered from my birth. To say that my father was unable to deal with the loss would be putting things kindly."

"I can well imagine."

"There were so many times over the years I would see him looking at me and the expression he had on his face when he looked away, it- ...I used to think that he hated me. Knowing what I know now, I can see his side of things better than I ever wanted to. He lost himself in his own despair and had no time for anything else. But I think that if he had been given a choice, he would have taken my mother without a shadow of a doubt. I'm certain I'm not the only child to have ever been in this situation, neither the first nor the last. But his greatest sin, his greatest failure as a father, was letting me know it."

Something hot trickled down her cheek but she forced herself to keep talking.

"He wasn't a father to me. How could he possibly have been a good father? The moment she left us he gave up on everything."

Edmont said nothing, and she could see nothing of his face through her tears. But she heard the sound of the chair scraping as he stood, and the tap of his cane upon the floor. A warm hand descended upon her shoulder and squeezed. Gently he plucked the box from her hands, set it on the table, and pulled her to her feet.

"Any parent should be proud to have raised a child like you," he said, "and I doubt your mother would have held any of your choices against you. You are an exceptional woman - not just by your deeds, but by your heart - and even if she had known beforehand what would happen to her I suspect that much like Haurchefant, she would not have changed a thing about her decision. Sometimes our sorrows are so great in scale and so close together we think the world will never be anything else. But there is joy, great joy, in living." He tucked a stray sheaf of her hair behind her ear. "And there is joy in the hope you bring to others and in your presence in their lives. Let that be her enduring gift to you- as you are to us."

Smiling, albeit with a great sadness in his eyes, he opened his free arm and let her come to him.

"Had I ever been fortunate enough to raise a daughter," he said, "I like to think she would have been a great deal like you. If you can ever bring yourself to say it, it would greatly honor this old man to be your father in truth as well as bureaucracy."

Wrapped in his embrace, she smelled cloves, coffee, aged paper, and the earthy sweetness of pipe tobacco. She inhaled on a choked sob and nodded, unable to speak. Tomorrow would be for joy and joy alone. Tonight, she wept for the father she had lost years before he had left her, and for the gift of another.

Elidibus knows better than to wander about at night. He knows and yet he does—listening, searching, praying—in hopes that his God will see him and grant revelation. Zodiark is a silent god and His scripture is a prescribed set of ablutions for the sake of purity and devotion.

He is loyal. He is the most devout, the worthiest, and he has it in good faith that even the temptations of Azem cannot sway him. The rigors of denial are but a step of the many required for his ascension. Their promises of freedom and indulgence are only dangerous to mortal men. He has no want of their divine light, their false providence, that strange and never-ending tale they weave about a world divided and brought peace.

Zodiark brought salvation unto the Star. It was not them and their stolen mantle who redressed the balance and grappled with a treasonous God. Hydaelyn would see them all crucified for Her own gain, supping on their dreams and aether like a leech and tossing souls about within the Lifestream as if they were naught but toys. Her machinations have seen many of his Brothers and Sisters led down the path of sin. He swears that he will not follow them.

In his wandering and thinking, he meets them─the infernal Azem. They jaunt about with bare feet and a sunbeam smile as if he cannot see the knife they hide behind that cheer. He has no want to be a sacrificial lamb upon the altar of their broken faith.

“Come join me,” they call, stepping over the threshold between the holy halls of his chapel and that of the wilds. Had they been a demon, they would have been stopped long before nearing His domain. “Elidibus, old friend, why do you deny me so?”

He holds his rosary tight enough to ache. “Do not speak to me as if we are associates.”

“Shall I speak to you as a brother? A lover, mayhaps?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. “You will speak to me as nothing. Begone from this place. You are not welcome here.”

They laugh in bell-like tones, soft and musical where it shatters the silence, and do not listen to his words. “I am a traveler, you know. You could leave with me and He would never know.”

Elidibus grinds his teeth, turning away from them to stalk down the hall in hopes that they will leave him be. They simply follow. He is almost unbothered by the dirt they track along the halls when he is fixated on their words.

Why would he leave? What is there to run from? He is the Emissary, the preacher of Truth and Speaker for His will. He has nothing to fear from them.

(And yet a little part of his brain nags about how even Emet-Selch had left to follow them. Their devout Architect around whose ears this very chapel rose had been seduced by Azem's promises. Where is he now? Why has he not come along with them? What has him so busy that he would not only abandon his Shepherd's side, but even that of the chance to get in the way of Elidibus's ascension? He cannot fathom the answer.)

"Elidibus," they say as he opens the door to his chambers, "do remember my offer. I will be back, 'ere long. You stand at a crossroads. Be cautious that you do not choose the wrong path."

And when he closes it behind him, their voice vanishes same as their shadow. He kneels next to his bed and entreats His guidance one word at a time. Whether a crossroads, a crux, or crucifixion, he would have answers.

Warm-ups

Warm-up 1: Haiku Who: Generic/everyone What: The journey continues. Content notes: None (Link)

Warm-up 2: Expression Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha What: Narangelel has a serene face, but it has nuances. Content notes: None (Link)

Warm-up 3: Limerick Who: Storm Haeron What: "Stoneface" has earned his nickname. Content notes: Implication of nausea (Link)

Warm-up 4: Voice Who: Storm Haeron What: Storm’s voice can be likened to the earth. Content notes: None (Link)

FFXIVWrite Prompts

1. Crux Who: Cain Locke What: Cain struggles with things he'd rather not accept. Content notes: Implication of sleep deprivation and disordered eating (Link)

2. Sway Who: Storm Haeron What: A wealthy Ul'dahn tries to secure a book deal from Storm. Content notes: Oblique mention of sex work (Link)

3. Muster Who: Brenda Larkspur What: Brenda worries about getting overshadowed. Content notes: None (Link)

4. Clinch Who: Merces Ninthstar, G'ilas Tia What: Merces muses about his work while repairing a fence. Content notes: None (Link)

5. Matter of Fact Who: Lumien Chaunollet, Valencian Miraudont (NPC) What: Lumien's cousin tries to convince him. Content notes: Mild cursing (Link)

7. Nonagerian Who: Sasameru Kokomeru What: Sasameru visits his grandfather, who isn't quite senile. Content notes: Poison (non-lethal, mildly graphic) (Link)

8. Clamor Who: G'ilas Tia What: G'ilas survives the battle of Cartenau, but at what cost? Content notes: War, death, injury and blood (somewhat graphic) (Link)

9. Lush Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha What: Nara thinks of her home and her journey. Content notes: None (Link)

10. Avail Who: Haldswys Ghimdaegwyn, Sasameru Kokomeru What: Haldswys sees trouble brewing and decides to act. Content notes: Oblique mentions of violence, threats of violence, alcohol, mild cursing (Link)

11. Ultracrepidarian Who: Chaudelais "Chaz" Mendel What: Chaz tries to show off his knowledge. Content notes: None (Link)

12: Tooth and Nail Who: Generic/Dark Knight WoL What: What does it mean to be the chosen of Hydaelyn? Content notes: Mentions of blood and violence; vague allusions/spoilers to Shadowbringers 5.0 storyline; written as song lyrics (Link)

14: Part Who: Isla Ironborne (NPC) What: A woman thinks about her brother and her role in the world. Content notes: Mild cursing (Link)

15. Ache Who: Merces Ninthstar What: Merces’s headache leads to unpleasant thoughts. Content notes: Nausea, vomiting, migraine (mentioned, semi-graphic) (Link)

16. Lucubration Who: Sasameru Kokomeru What: Sometimes studying is difficult. Content notes: None; written as a limerick (Link)

17. Fade Who: Brenda Larkspur What: Brenda thinks and reminisces while looking at a crystal. Content notes: Discussion of parental death (non-graphic) (Link)

18. Panglossian Who: G'ilas Tia, Wilhelm Blackthorne & Koharu Sunfeather (guest characters) What: G'ilas's friends question his actions while patching him up. Content notes: Brief mention of life-threatening danger (non-graphic) (Link)

19. Where the Heart Is Who: Storm Haeron What: Storm muses about the whereabouts of home. Content notes: None (Link)

21. Foibles Who: Cain Locke, Dreicon Sunfeather (guest character) What: Cain can't help but be baffled by the Xaela he is helping out. Content notes: Mention of violence (non-graphic) (Link)

22. Argy-Bargy Who: Chaudelais "Chaz" Mendel What: When Chaz is denied something he wants, he gets frustrated. Content notes: Moderate swearing, mention of serious injury (Link)

23. Shuffle Who: Haldswys Ghimdaegwyn What: Haldswys visits a fortune teller. Content notes: None (Link)

24. Beam Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha, Chotan Kha (NPC) What: Narangelel's mother finds her on a river bank one morning. Content notes: None (Link)

25. Wish Who: Cain Locke, Lumien Chaunollet, Merces Ninthstar, Storm Haeron, Narangelel "Nara" Kha What: A look into a few individual's lives and their wishes. Content notes: None (Link)

26. When Pigs Fly Who: G'ilas Tia, Merces Ninthstar, Brenda Larkspur What: G'ilas enlists Brenda's help to teach Merces humour. Content notes: None (save for jokes of questionable quality) (Link)

27. Endearing (Extra Credit) Who: Cain Locke What: Cain is tempted by something he sees in the marketplace. Content notes: None (Link)

28. Irenic Who: Lumien Chaunollet What: Lumien might be even too good at apologizing. Content notes: Bullying, canon-typical racial prejudice, heightism (Link)

29. Paternal Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha, Storm Haeron What: Nara makes a new acquaintance while sailing from Kugane. Content notes: None (Link)

Slender, strong fingers pressed against each other, steepling under the King’s chin as he stared down at the lump of flesh that he rested his feet upon. With it’s handless arms and footless legs bound to the torso, it made an acceptable footrest. One that he could easily turn around at this body’s whim and use to make himself cum in any one of a number of orifices. It almost made him feel nostalgic, for the days when furniture such as this was littered about his home. The footrest was attractive, too, with it’s tanned skin.

The problem was, it wouldn’t stop weeping. Even with it’s tongue cut out, it wouldn’t stop making that damn noise. What was worse, insult upon injury, was that it hadn’t worked.

SHE hadn’t come. His Orchid with her heart apparently made of stone. He had been so damn meticulous- finding the whore sister in the vastness of Garlemald, ingratiating himself with the Empire, spreading information and gil and ale and other pleasantries, taking the girl, then slowly, carefully, weaving the wires that should have wrapped around his Orchid’s very being and brought her swiftly to his arms.

What had gone wrong? What was he not accounting for? WHY HADN’T SHE COME?!

He heard the shriek of pain before realizing that he’d viciously kicked the side of the footrest. The sound grated on him, it wasn’t the lovely screams that Y’zareen (dare he call her Zareen, even in his mind?) would give him. This voice was harsh, breaking every time it went high-pitched, it was all...just…wrong. He kicked the footrest again, knocking it over on the side, then rose to his full height and glowered down at it. A kick at the head, that would shut it up.

One kick became five, became ten, became a madness filled with hatred-fueled stomping and kicking and beating until splinters of bone cut open his hands and his immaculate attire was soaked in sweat and blood. Still, the thing breathed. It didn’t scream, but it breathed, bubbling breaths full of foam and phlegm and all the disgusting evidence of life. His body was aroused, so hard his pants were uncomfortable and he had to adjust himself to find some relief. Somewhere in the madness, he had cum, and the Crimson King found himself feeling utter revulsion for the physical form he was bound to.

Sweeping his hair back out of his eyes, leaving a streak of gore in the dark strands, he stood up and tugged at the dripping sleeves of the once-white shirt. He’d played this game for long enough. It was time to try something different. If Y’zareen was going to play the cold-hearted bitch and reject the ties of her own blood, then it was time to tug at the ties that he knew bound her. It was a shame her husband was dead, that would have made it so much easier- but there were others. Her Pack. Her ‘Family’. A dozen or so people that she trusted, that she loved. It was a risk- they had taken down one of his creations already, and had plenty of experience fighting against voidkin. Still, he had connections now. Connections they wouldn’t expect.

The question was, who first?

As he mused, the bleeding, dying woman that had once been a Jaguar miqo’te, the last living sister of Y’zareen, the last living daughter of Serhan, breathed her final breath.

The Crimson King stormed out of the room, snapping sharply at the guards that stood at either side of the bedroom door. “We’re leaving.”

“Yes, milord.” came the reply. One of them glanced into the room, moving just his eyes, and felt his gorge rise. Perhaps that is what gave him the courage to ask a question. “What about the… her, milord?”

“That?” The King flicked bloody hair out of his eyes with an insolent gesture and shrugged. “Why should I care? It’s just a broken piece of furniture.” He turned on his heel but something...something tugged at his senses.

Something wasn’t right.

Walking back into the doorway of the room, he concentrated so he could see the flow of aether. The body on the floor still glowed and as he watched, the glow faded, and faded, and -there.

Oh….now that was curious.

The Crimson King, thoughtful now, turned and headed for the bath, leaving his two men confused and green around the gills as they tried to decide which of them would deal with the mess in the room.

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

Shirogane

A gemstone, slightly flawed, set in a golden bracer, made a nearly inaudible crack as a small splinter flaked away. The nearly invisible hairline fracture that marred it’s surface widened minutely, new fractures spreading across the surface.

Aether, pulsing through a woman with every heartbeat, slowly began to bleed from the fracture, as the dam that had been crafted by faith and prayers and crystals in a place that no longer existed splintered and began, slowly, to dissipate.

A voice, sad and soft, whispered in her dreams.

“What happens to a god when it is forgotten?”

==================

"Yes," Nero said, irritably. "We did. Not that it's any business of yours."

"I see."

"She had no particular objections at the time that I recall." Try as he might to sound indifferent, it rang false in his own ears. A paltry defense of something that should have required none, to his thinking, and yet it carried with it the fetid stench of a guilty conscience. He hated it. "I suppose she told you and Garlond about it, then. Unless it's spread all over the camp."

"No one's spread any rumors about the two of you." The look in G'raha Tia's eyes rankled at his frayed temper further still. "As far as I'm aware I am the only one who knows."

Nero had expected some degree of censure had their salacious little interlude ever seen the light of day. He hadn't missed the man's attraction to Aurelia Laskaris and felt quite sure he would be compelled to do something absurd like defend her honor.

But to his surprise, there was nothing of envy in that stare. Or if there was, G'raha was far better at concealing it than Nero would have done at the same age. He was painfully aware that for all his conceits and all his cool, cultured airs, he wore his heart on his sleeve. It had taken years to break himself of the habit of reacting personally to every slight, perceived or real, and he struggled with it still. It was the only fault he would readily admit to sharing with Cid Garlond.

On second thought, Garlond probably didn't know. He was sweet on the eikon-slayer himself, and Nero had little doubt that if word of what had transpired had come round to the other engineer, he'd have gotten an earful and then some. Garlond would have shouted and pontificated at length about what a selfish shite he was.

This boy only looked at him.

Beneath the weight of that stare he felt first uneasy, then his cheeks began to burn with something that felt... no, something that was shame. For that tense brace of moments, Nero was an Academy student of twelve summers once again, standing before the provost's desk, called upon to account for some nameless instance of misbehavior.

The comparison left him embarrassed and angry. Hells! He wasn't that student any longer, that was the thing. Hadn't been that boy for years now. He was a man grown- and more to the point, a free one. There was no longer a legatus to whom he was compelled to answer, nor any Emperor to whom he must bend the knee, nor any bureaucratic apparatus to gainsay him.

He answered to no one and could do as he pleased.

But that stare, that silent reproach, bored into him until he had to look to the gloom-choked skies over Silvertear's northern shore. 

"Well," he said, his voice as cold and brisk as a midwinter morning, "get on with it then."

"With what?"

He decided not to mince words. "You want me to apologise to her."

The auburn tail flickered with his inner restlessness- but otherwise, G'raha gave no response. The bow of his mouth was drawn and solemn, thoughts turned inward as they seemed to do more and more often.

From here the outline of the Tower was just barely visible, the crystal facets shimmering azure and light as its massive spire reached into the heavens, only to disappear amongst the clouds. The cloud sat so low that even the short journey on the road that led down into the Syrcus trench was nearly impassable, and so they had decided as a group not to brave gigas territory attempting to access the Dossal Gate until the haze had lifted somewhat. Nero would have gone full bore ahead, damn the consequences if he hadn't needed the others.

His exasperation made itself known in a soft and huffed sigh, broad shoulders slouching in the confines of his coat. He thrust his hands into the deep pockets.

"If you aren't here to chastise me, then why did you want to talk to me?"

"Let me say, first of all, that you are quite right. What happened between the two of you is not my business." G'raha's smile, thin and rueful, did not touch the melancholy cast in those two-toned eyes. "But what I have to say to you does concern the Warrior of Light. I know the two of you have not... necessarily seen eye to eye, in the past-"

"An understatement. We were once enemies."

"-but I would ask you to try and look past your differences, and treat her with some kindness. She could use a friend."

"She is the champion of the realm," he said wryly. "So-called. And hardly in need of your protection or anyone else's."

"That's where you would be wrong."

"Meaning?"

"I've heard a great deal about what's gone on behind closed doors. Aurelia is a close friend so I will not betray her secrets." One of those eyes, the crimson one, flickered aside to catch his gaze. "As I likewise consider you my friend."

The Garlean scoffed, his lips twisting into an icy sneer.

"You're a fool, then," he said. "Worse than that, you're a naive fool."

"All men need a confidante, Nero. Even me. Even you."

"I was Gaius van Baelsar's second in command. The man who successfully uncovered the secrets of the Ultima Weapon." When G'raha did not answer, he challenged: "That fact truly stirs no rancor in you? I find that curious."

"I recognize an attempt to bait me when I hear it." Nero said nothing, choosing instead to carefully study the mica formations upon a nearby outcropping with a focus only slightly less feverish than if it had been a recently uncovered tomelith. "You were once an enemy of Eorzea, that I won't deny- but you are not without your positive qualities."

"Name three."

G'raha beamed at him. "That is not much of a challenge, you know."

"No?"

"You are clearly a very resilient man. You are also resourceful- your knowledge has been of great assistance to us whether you believe it or not."

"That's two."

"So it is." The Miqo'te held up three fingers. "Three - and I fully expect you to deny it - you are remarkably reliable. You could have chosen any number of ways to sabotage the excavation and yet not only have you not done so, but you have also lent your expertise to fill the gaps in my own knowledge."

"Your knowledge has been useful to my own goals," Nero said shortly. "Don't take it as a sign of aught else."

"Four," G'raha grinned, "you're a half-decent culinarian."

"Amateur at best."

"Amateur or no, Ryssrael adores you."

"Seven hells," he groused, "get to the bloody point."

"My point is that I can think of few better suited to help her."

"She has that Ishgardian. That knight-"

"You clearly know nothing of Ishgard. One or two may treat her as an ally but a political alliance is hardly a friendship." G'raha shook his head. "She needs a real friend, Nero. Someone she can trust to look out for her interests. Not Ishgard's, or Eorzea's, or the Scions'. Hers alone."

"Why are you asking this of me? Even if she didn't detest me-" "I doubt she detests you any more than you do her."

"Not the point. And you seem to be solidly in her corner. Why not take this duty upon yourself?"

"Because," he said, his gaze returning to the silhouette of the distant Tower as his smile faded, "there is something else I need to do first."

"And what is that?"

That fathomless stare seemed to travel for malms. It crossed dark waters and passed through the heavy bank of clouds and into endless heights of faceted azure, and for a moment G'raha Tia seemed immeasurably old, older even than the prize they sought. He appeared to be lost in his own reverie, viewing something that appeared intended only for his eyes.

Still, Nero tol Scaeva did his level best to see it himself. He looked with the eyes of a man who had never touched a scrap of magic in his life outside the hallways of his own imagination, but no matter how he strained he saw nothing mystical or ominous. There was only light and Allagan artifice: a sentinel in turns fantastic and ancient, taunting him as it stood just out of reach.

As he had, his entire life, stood out of reach of others. He felt himself suffused with an emotion that was very much like yearning, for a brace of seconds, before the sensation passed.

Ridiculous, he thought. All of it. Bloody ridiculous. I never would have had these worries had I simply followed behind and not attempted to ingratiate myself.

But once again, G'raha Tia was smiling like an excited child.

================

Aurelia squinted at the document in her hand. "So if I am reading this correctly," she said, "in Ishgard I would be known in official records as Aurelia de Fortemps rather than Aurelia Laskaris?"

"That you would. As a ward of my father's house you and young Master Alphinaud - and yes, Mistress Tataru as well - have all been conferred the status and rights of scions of the High Houses. That includes the protection of our name."

"Well! That is quite the thing. To be cast by circumstance from one noble house only to gain another." Her smile was listless and wry. "If that isn't a statement upon the whims of fate I don't know what is."

"My father will be glad to help where needed, I think. But if ever you have need of my personal assistance, it is yours. Just as it has ever been."

"You have done more for me than I could ever have hoped in these past few weeks alone." Unbidden memories arose in the wake of her words, and she felt sudden heat in her cheeks despite the bitter chill of the wind. "....Haurchefant, I... y-you do not think ill of me, do you?"

His brows lifted until they disappeared in the unkempt mop of his silvery hair. 

"What? Certainly not! Why in the Fury's name would you think so?"

"I don't..." Her hands tightened upon the balcony railing as she took a deep breath. "Since the other night I've not really had the chance to speak with you alone like this. I suppose we've been busy but that's only part of it. I... I feel that on some level, I've been avoiding you."

"Go on," he said gently, when he saw that she was struggling. Aurelia smiled, small and uncertain.

"You see, I... I think - very much - that I have not been as good a friend as I should. That is to say, when we were-... I think I may have been using you. For comfort. And I'm ashamed of myself for it. You deserve better." Her hands gripped fistfuls of her skirts. "That... was extremely selfish of me. I have been unfair to you- unfair, and unkind. And I wanted to-"

His warm hand on her cheek interrupted her stumbling, awkward apology mid-syllable.

"You have no need to beg forgiveness of me, Aurelia," he said gently. "I've long understood the way of things. And I am hardly an innocent wounded party; when we first met this was the offer I made to you. Was it not?"

"Aye, I fully recall that you propositioned me. 'Twas a jest, or so I assumed at the time."

"Come now," he chided, "do you think I offer the comforts of my bed to every passing adventurer?"

"The thought had crossed the minds of several fortress denizens, as I recall." Haurchefant smiled; in truth, his intent all along had been to make his friend laugh. She had burdens enough without adding himself to the list. "You have got a bit of a reputation, Lord Greystone."

"Ah, just so! Well, 'tis true that I have my appetites. But I take none who do not come willingly." He patted her hand, still smiling. "You are neither the first nor the last to accept that offer. It came with no strings attached. You have been through some very trying times of late and I am full glad to have had the privilege of your companionship."

"Haurchefant-"

"Pray let me continue. You've shared my bed, but that only makes us friends. It does not mean you are interested in anything more, and it would be unseemly of me to assume otherwise."

The careful way she searched his expression made it clear she sought reassurance. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"You're not just attempting to spare my blushes, are you? I know I've wronged you. I can accept it if I've damaged our relationship."

His lips curved in a cheeky grin. "I admit I would not find it amiss were you to seek another tryst- but that is your decision to make. Whichever you choose, my hearth or my bed, I will be as glad for it as I ever was."

"If you're certain all is well and forgiven." Her eyes, wet and overbright, shone in the flickering light of the balcony lamps. "You are my dearest friend, Haurchefant. You always will be."

"As you are mine," he said. "And I would hate for you to feel as though aught has changed between us." 

Despite her air of self-possession, Haurchefant thought, Aurelia had never struck him as a cold person. Quite the opposite, in fact- but she was also very much like her patron goddess. Bright, constant, radiant... and remote. Always just at arm's length, so very close to the joys and sorrows of those she protected but shuttered from them as though she were separated from all she held dear by an invisible panel of glass. 

She was, despite working tirelessly on behalf of Eorzea's betterment, not an Eorzean. She was an outsider, an interloper, and it was the wall that prevented her from truly finding a place among them. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he wished to change that. 

"You will always have a home in Ishgard," he said, his voice uncommonly firm.

To feel her arms suddenly wrap around him was startling, but it brought him joy as well. "Thank you," she whispered. "Haurchefant, it... that was the last time. My actions that night were self-serving and they would be even more so now. I fear I would cause you a hurt neither of us could heal. But I shall cherish our friendship, always. No matter where fate and life take us."

Haurchefant's arms tightened about her slim frame in return for just a moment, as he indulged himself in the moment of wistful sadness her admission brought him. But when she released him from her embrace at last he was smiling, blue eyes once again bright and twinkling with mirth. 

"If we sit around talking about our feelings much longer, my friend, I fear we'll turn into ice statues ere the conversation ends! Let's come inside from this awful wind. We can warm ourselves by the fire while you tell my father of some of your adventures- and myself as well. I don't believe you ever told me what happened once you opened the doors of the Tower?"