#ffxivwriters

I've been working on this FFXIV fic for a while now. If M!Miqo'te WoL/G'raha Tia is your jam then I hope to provide the warm and crispy toast for you to enjoy it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64293520/chapters/165035107

“There are many bits of profound wisdom common to the world.  The first bit is never to get into a land war in Garlemead.  But only slightly less well known is to never wager death when a Twinkinryker is involved!  Let us help you find security for you and your family!” 

 ~From a leaflet found in Ul’Dah “Calamity Insurance and You, Being Financially Prepared for the Next Umbral Calamity!”

“Footloose and Fancy Free.” - The Book of Thursby: Scions of Numenor

 [SB]

Benjimir invested several weeks into perfecting his jaunting skills between locations.  Despite not expecting too, he setup quarters in the company hall of Scions of Numenor.  The company had been chartered by Benjimir though his aid de camp and half-brother, Bondermir.  Bondermir had sought out Tessariel Aerlinn at Benjimir’s explicit orders following the discovery of her name by Tinifalas in several books and records.  These books were written in a language known seemingly only to House Thursby and it’s own Free Company’s members.  Tessariel’s name held a place of high esteem in the history of Benjimir’s company.  

As Tessariel’s reputation became known to Benjimir she and some of her associates wished to form a free company with an aim to assist local merchants and others in profitable by altruistic spirit.  Such was an ancient and deeply rooted practice of House Thursby’s which led it to naturally form it’s own company some years before.  Thus the Thursby Company, in the name of Benjimir, became the benefactor to these Scions of Numenor.  

Benjimir had spent years communicating by written word but had only now come to know each other in person as they took counsel frequently in the company hall.  Always within the proprieties of business and duty.  Despite Aubreen’s oft repeated advice, Benjimir had constrained his social activities to formal events, usually with keen value to the companies.  

Business however was for a change distant from Benjimir’s mind as he sat In the common room of the Free Company’s hall.  Ben sipped his morning tea, licking the tip of a finder and sliding a page of the local journal across as he reads.  

Bondermir entered from the rooms downstairs.  "Morning." he says as he sits down to pour his own tea.

"Where away?" Ben asks, looking over the top of his glasses.

"A soak and sup.  Mornings here are good for that." he replies, munching on a scone.

"The local journal is amusing.  A mix of news of note and amusing color stories.  The sketchings are funny.  I especially like the one about the bald Lala boy with the ziggy zig hauberk being tormented by the bitter girl with dark hair." Ben smiles sliding to another page.  Bondermir nods and smiles at the reference.  

"Kupo Nuts,’ I really like that one.   Did the Captain see you since last week?  She wanted me to relay a message."  Bondermir said.

"What do I need to know?" Ben asked.

"Tessariel would like to introduce you to some leaders from a few Free Companies that are sympathetic to our work here.  I've met them in my time.  She feels it would advance relations to meet them personally." Bondermir explained.

"Where and when?" Ben folded the paper down and asked.

"The club you have been frequenting the last few weeks.  The Drunken Moogle."

"Oh.....joy.  Tell me it is not another gala or formal affair.  If I have to starch another collar on my dress whites it may snap."  lamented Ben, not relishing another night of stiff introductions to strangers.

"Very much the opposite sir, if I know the Captains mind.  More a chance to meet these people more personally without presenting credentials, her presence will take care of that.  And if I might say so sir, you could do with less starch in the collar and opportunities to put rank and title aside among folks."  Bondermir pressed delicately which his lifelong friendship allowed despite his rank.

Ben paused and glanced aside for a moment.  His mouth pinched back some, his instinct to avoid purely social affairs and reluctance to allow a breech in the shield his practiced formality provided was legend among the Thursbys and fast becoming the assumed norm among the Scions.  This, not without purpose either.

"You know I hate these kinds of things." Ben replied, drawing out the word hate a fraction of a second longer for emphasis.

"Because you have not mastered them." Bondermir immediately responded but as quickly raised his hands up and out in response to what he knew would be Ben's response.  

"The Gala's, business affairs, yes, they are your element, you control the room, have presence without needing to even speak.  You are actually more relaxed despite disliking the events and acting formal because it is a game you are so good at.  But that won’t hold here.”  Bondermir said as he lowered his hand and leaned forward toward Benjimir who was now deeper into thought than before.

“Formality and decorum have their place.” Ben asked, leaning back on the couch, looking at the ceiling.”

“Yes sir,” Bondermir answered.

“But these are not relations between nations, armies or city states.” Ben asked to the air.

“No sir,” Bondermir replied, tipping his head as he recognized Ben’s working to a conclusion.

“We are talking about, individual relationships and trust, not entities and treaties.” Ben surmised rhetorically.

“Precisely sir,” Bondermir said, his head nodding downward a hair more punctuating Ben’s progression through the logic.

“And Tessarial intends to conduct me through this, she’s adapt at such...gatherings?” asked Ben.

“This is my understanding sir, and yes she is, though most would agree she does not take time enough to attend for herself.” Bondermir nodded and spoke. “She did not strike me as the type last week, I stand so advised though.  If I see her I’ll talk to her about going, meanwhile cover the backside and make sure word gets to her promptly that I’ll attend with her.” Ben resolved.

“Very well sir, I’ll see to it presently.” Bondermir said and rose.

Benjimir sat back and contemplated the coming weeks end and was stirred by a chilling thought.

“What in gods name am I going to wear?”

Alisaie had teased her brother incessantly regarding his ineptitude whilst traversing any body of water deeper than a bathtub, almost as soon as they took to Captain Carvallain’s ship at the docks in Limsa Lominsa. Lyse, always quick to join in when there was good-natured, affectionate ribbing to be had, was no different. In truth, it hadn’t seemed to bother the lad all that much; mayhap he had grown accustomed to it, and accepting their jests in self-deprecation was his way of coping with the creeping dread he felt. It was much the same when the Scions of the Seventh Dawn passed beneath the enormous torii gate of Kugane, pressing onward in the hopes of finding passage to Yanxia, only to discover their path barred by pirate-infested waters no ship’s captain dared to cross. Alisaie and Lyse gently teased Alphinaud that they may need to swim their way across, Haurchefant gallantly coming to Alphinaud’s defense even as the lad protested that he did not need it. But their words faded into the background, as Gisele stood upon the shore of the Ruby Price, for she froze staring out at the water as though she were rooted to the very immaculately kept stone. The vastness of that sea, so pristine blue, was incalculable. Here and there she spotted islands upon the horizon, rolling hills and mountains towering up from the deep. But there was so very much water between them, and her. Though she found it peaceful and serene, nonetheless did her breath hitch and her heart pound within her chest, her bronze skin suddenly pearled with beads of chilled damp. She clutched at the hem of her sleeve, in a desperate attempt to conceal the trembling of her fingers.

“Gisele?”

Flinching at the sound of Lyse’s voice calling to her, Gisele turned to see Lyse’s mouth curved down into a frown as she tilted her head towards her. “Are you alright?” Lyse asked.

Numb

The wind and snow offered her a comforting shroud in one of the dark alleyways of Ishgard. The few people who lurked in these small, intertwining streets knew to leave her be. She was still clad in blood-soaked armour, her hands still trembling, and her large greatsword leaning against the wall next to her. It was freezing at this time of night; a vicious snowstorm had blown up, yet she found herself numb to any discomfort. Her own wounds still wept, having only been hastily tended to and wrapped, and the potion she’d downed earlier wasn’t particularly strong.

This, she supposed, was a perk of her current job. In her pocket was her job stone, pulsing with a warm power against her chest. The mutterings of Fray were incoherent and often violent. There was an undertone of despair amidst those rumblings, and something within her felt as though it cracked. What it was, however, was of little consequence to her as of now.

Her throat constricted, her heart pounded, her head hung low. She clenched her hands into fists, tight enough to bruise. Come the morning, she would have to reign in her despair, her sorrow, and focus on something else - her thirst for righteous vengeance. For now, she wished to be alone; she could think of no one who could comfort her, no one who she felt comfortable turning to.

She was the Warrior of Light dammit. She was always strong. Always stoic. Completed feats without fail.

Yet she cowered in an alley, a slave to emotion, and though she had accomplished her task, it was not without loss. That Aymeric had been spared further torture was the only solace, the only silver lining, she found.

Even were she in shelter, in a bed somewhere, she could not sleep. How could she, when the Heaven’s Ward still roamed free - alive and unharmed? Come the morrow, she would focus on the task at hand. She would be the Warrior of Light once more, and soldier on.

Even though she wanted nothing more than to toss everything aside and go after them alone, she would wait. She was in a fit of rage, full of bloodthirst, but she still managed to retain some semblance of coherency, of logic. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew she would need help.

Banquet

Celeste picked at her food, slowly but surely vaguely aware that at any point this food could’ve been poisoned, her drink spiked (again), or worse. It made eating in a group difficult, and she always ended up on high alert. She trusted few to make her meals, and fewer still to serve her drinks - and the people who fit the bill were in Coerthas, a world away from this meeting.

It was a somewhat lavish banquet before another meeting would take place to determine how to go about dealing with the Garleans. It was a pretext, a way to get the members of the Alliance and Scions alike to be somewhat more comfortable with each other. Still, Celeste found herself worried, a feeling of dread hanging over her like an impending storm, making her almost want to squirm in her seat.

The few occasions she’d had these important meals had always ended poorly. Whether it be passing out due to the echo, being framed for murder, or generally being drugged - it hadn’t gone well. It was as though she, herself, were a bad omen - and had Alisaie been any less insistent on her presence here, and Aymeric any less excitable to see her, she would’ve turned down the offer. It felt like a bad omen.

“Are you not hungry?” A question from the aforementioned Elezen girl, looking at her dubiously. Alisaie was a surprisingly big eater, and unlike herself, seemed to be at least enjoying that, even if she wasn’t a fan of these social gatherings in the slightest.

Celeste shook her head, offering Alisaie a small smile, forced though it was. “No, not particularly.” She admitted in a soft voice, wary of becoming the object of any kind of attention. She had enough spotlight to deal with as the Warrior of Light, and while she had no qualms about leading a band of adventurers - or soldiers, or any kind of group, into battle, this was far out of her league.

Alisaie opened her mouth to speak, though closed it again, unsure of what to say. She repeated this a couple of times before finally deciding. “You’re awfully tense. Do you sense something?”

Celeste shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, no no no, nothing, really. Apologies, t’wasn’t my intent to make you worry.”

“You’ve not had the best of luck with these types of meetings, have you?” The voice that spoke was smooth, gentle and familiar - and so sudden Celeste quite nearly jumped out of her skin. Aymeric stood by her side and offered her one of the cups in his hand - tea, sweetened with birch syrup, and no doubt made by the man himself. She took it gratefully and sipped at the contents. Tea always had the effect of calming her nerves, even before she was introduced to the allure of Coerthan tea leaves and birch syrup as a sweetener.

Deal Celeste found herself in a state of tranquil fury. On the one hand, this deal would mean that not only would Doma see the return of their conscripted soldiers from the Garlean forces, but that Garlemald itself would recognise Doma independent and they may well be rid of Yotsuyu, in one way or another. This was good. This was fantastic. Killing not one, not two, but three birds with one stone.

All except for the fanatic that was Asahi. He wasn’t just loyal to Zenos, he had an almost unhealthy obsession with him. That there would be someone out there that existed as such was terrifying in itself, and caused Celeste’s blood to run cold. How could there be people out there who supported such an unstable lunatic?

She snorted self-derisively and heard Fray mocking her in the depths of her soul. Perhaps she, too, was an unstable lunatic - but she wasn’t about killing innocents or subjecting them to hideous conditions just to find someone to fight! She wasn’t that far gone.

When she recalled Asahi threatening her, she could only imagine the face she’d made as he goaded her into killing him. Oh, and how she had wanted to drive her greatsword through that spindly little torso and rip it in half. She couldn’t adequately describe the feeling that Asahi gave her - there were no words for her contempt.

Now she stood, seething in the rain at the Doman Enclave. She would cool off - literally - and return to her business. That was all she could do. The deal had to move forward. The deal had to push through, even though Celeste had her doubts as to the veracity of the deal in itself. It seemed too good to be true, too perfect.

She had meant what she said to Asahi. Change for Garlemald could truly only come from within. Yet here, she felt there was something else at work. Something sinister and not quite of this world. She had no proof, and it was no doubt just her paranoia creeping up on her, but she nevertheless had a sense of unease settling within her stomach.

Bouquet

It wasn’t often Celeste ventured to Azys Lla, but given the circumstances, it was as good a time as any. In her hands was a small bouquet of blue flowers - she had made a similar offering earlier that day to a dear friend. It was the end of the Dragonsong War; they had a right to know that their lives hadn’t been given in vain. Even if they couldn’t hear her words, she would say them. Even if they couldn’t hear her thanks, she would give it.

Yet, as she approached the edge of the landing, she saw another. A bouquet not unlike her own on the edge. She found herself smiling, huffing something of a self-derisive laugh. Estinien had disappeared without a trace from the medical ward, leaving his helmet and armour behind.

He’d not said a word of goodbye to herself, Alphinaud, or even, to her knowledge, Aymeric. She found herself unsurprised; what she knew of the man lead her to believe he was quite the loner. She hadn’t imagined him being quite so sentimental, especially having been at odds with Ysayle for the course of their journey.

Though, looking back on her travails, there had been a camaraderie between them. Between all four of them, in fact. It had been nice; camping beneath the stars in the Churning Mists had become one of her fondest memories. Despite his gruff nature, Estinien did care, in that, Celeste had no doubt. While that nature had been infuriating sometimes, other times Celeste found herself fondly amused, enjoying herself.

And Ysayle, in spite of her initial actions, she meant well. There was no doubt that in Ysayle’s heart there had always been the desire for peace. She was a gentle, kind woman. Yet, she had a strength, a determination to see things through to the end that was unparalleled. Celeste admired that. She missed both of them quite dearly.

Estinien, at least, she knew she would see again. So long as she occasionally followed the path of the Dragoon, their paths would cross once more.

Ysayle wasn’t so fortunate. She saw a fleeting image of her once when tearing the eyes from Estinien’s body. It was one last way in which her spirit would help. She would help free the man who had been at odds with her the entire time, would lend support to Alphinaud, who had grown close to her. She had watched her fade to white, returning to the lifestream.

There would be no grave for Ysayle, the woman heralded as the leader of the heretics. There was no body to mourn, there was nothing left of her.

Celeste’s heels clacked against the metal as she made her way to the edge of the platform. Despite the buzz of technology, it was eerily silent and still. Though she knew the Garleans remained here for now and would be at odds with the wildlife and other Allagan creations here, there were no sounds of fighting. The static in the air crackled, splitting the sky with a flashy light show. There was no traditional weather here; only enough static to make the hairs on the back of Celeste’s neck stand on end.

She knelt at the edge of the platform, placing her bouquet next to Estinien’s. Though she wasn’t religious, she still offered a silent prayer for Ysayle.

Cherish

A smile, warm and true. The gentle fire in the background, crackling and dimly lighting the lavish living room. They sat upon the plush lounge in front of the fire, oblivious to the wind howling outside, the silent snowflakes battering against the window. In here, it was warm. In here it was comforting, it was safe. There was nowhere else as nice, nowhere else they found comfort.

A sip of the sweet wine. A toast, the soft clanging of glasses. Their voices carried throughout the otherwise silent halls. The manor was large, yet everywhere else was silent. No other room was lit; the one servant had long since retired to his own room a distance away. Here, they were alone. It was just the two of them, trading stories of adventure, of gossip, of whatever it was they could think of.

A brush of hands. They sat next to each other, close enough to feel the others’ heat. Close enough to hear every little intake of breath, each small little chuckle. They were lost in their own fleeting, intimate little world. It wouldn’t be long before they would realise their respective duties needed them, but until that time, they remained as they were. Yet, to them, time stood still. They would enjoy the fleeting time they had with each other.

They would remain as they were, fingers laced, peaceful. There was a war raging, yet here, it didn’t reach them. There would be a time when the couple would have to part, where one nation needed one, and the entire world needed the other. There would be a time when she would have to fight. There would be a time when he would have to debate. That time was not now.